


Will You Wait Until Tomorrow

by ArchOfImagine, hufflecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Prostate Orgasms, Sexual Discovery, Sexual Surrogate, Trans!Sam, bottom!Castiel, bottom!Dean, cancer survivor, mentions of cheating, patient!Castiel, sex therapy, therapist!Dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflecas/pseuds/hufflecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel just got the all clear — testicular cancer has left him with scars, mental and physical, but it won’t mean his life. Now comes the task of putting himself back together and realizing he’s not worthless just because a part of him is missing. With the encouragement of his wife, Tessa, he seeks out the help of a sexual surrogate.</p><p>A 2015 DCBB Fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DCBB. The first 20,000 words were easy. The rest of them were like pulling needles from an eye. Special thanks to my co-writer, hufflecas. And congrats to her on her recent engagement at DenCon! Also thanks to our wonderful artist, burningwicker. Beta-spectacular, Tiffany. And to our small support group of five readers that helped us get this bad boy going!
> 
> (Art links to be added! Our poor artist had internet issues.)

“Good news, Mr. Novak, you’re cancer free.”

Castiel reached up, rubbing his hand along the stubble on top of his head. The chemo and radiation therapies had been an extra insurance measure to make sure all of the cancerous cells in his body were dead. Before the treatments could take his hair, he had made the choice to shave it off himself in a fit of rage.

Now his body was starting to heal and it was like the short black hairs on top of his head were visual proof of that fact. 

In the chair next to his, his wife clutched his hand and whispered a soft, “Thank God.”

The outlook for full recovery had always been good — even during the worst moments of treatment Castiel had never thought _’fuck, I’m going to die’_ — but it was still nice to hear. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Is he going to start feeling normal soon?” Tessa asked.

“That can take some time,” the doctor replied, “and it’s different for everyone. Fighting a disease like this obviously takes its toll.” He shuffled some papers around on his desk. “Eat plenty of whole foods, stay hydrated, exercise regularly. Sleep. You’ll start to get back to your old self.”

“Again, thank you Doctor.” Castiel leaned forward to stand. 

He was more than ready to leave, but Tessa held onto him. She had one more question. “When… when will we be able to be intimate again?”

_Intimate._ Castiel hated that word. What his wife really meant was: _when will Castiel be able to look at his penis again? When will he be able to touch himself without feeling like his one fake ball is an obvious deformity?_

_Never,_ he wanted to scream.

“As long as Castiel doesn’t experience any discomfort, I don’t see any medical reason why you can’t be intimate immediately. His exam last week showed that all of his scarring has healed nicely from surgery.”

“That’s excellent.” Tessa turned to him. “Isn’t that great, honey?”

Castiel gave a small nod and smiled noncommittally. 

“I wish you two all the best,” the doctor said. “Call if you have any concerns.”

Tessa nodded, “We will, Doctor.”

He stood, shaking the doctor’s hand, before following his wife out of the office and out through the waiting room. Cas pulled the keys to their Kia Sorento from his pocket and rattled them softly as they walked across the parking lot. The past few months had been pure hell. His entire world had been turned upside down just because of one sensitive bump on his left testicle. 

But it was now apparently back to normal.

As they got into the car, Tessa leaned over to Cas from the passenger’s seat, laying her hand on his knee. “Why don’t we pick up a bottle of wine on the way home, make it a nice night in?”

He forced a smile. “I have an early meeting tomorrow, Tess, I really shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Well, that’s alright. We can save it for the weekend. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a nice dinner, though. What do you feel like?”

Her brown eyes looked at him hopefully, and Castiel forced himself to relax as he started the car and sent her a soft smile. “What about that Thai chicken recipe that you’re so good at?”

“Ooh yeah, that sounds great. We’re out of cilantro, though. Pit stop on the way home?”

“Of course.”

\---

They didn't make love that night, or the night after, or the night after that.

He couldn’t help it. Every time his wife tried to touch him, Castiel nearly had a panic attack at the thought of what would come next. He couldn’t explain what was wrong to her, either. He wasn’t very good at opening up _before_ his surgery — but now? It was damn near impossible.

Tessa was, in all truth, a great support. Castiel’s energy levels still ran low sometimes, and his wife never complained about having to do more than her share of housework or errands. And he never felt _pressured_ for sex, per se, but it was definitely the proverbial elephant in the room.

One evening, about three weeks after his positive prognosis, Tessa was in bed first. She was reading by lamplight — that was nothing unusual — but it didn’t look like her usual novel. Castiel climbed into the bed next to her, glancing over at his wife’s reading material. Were those… pamphlets?

“What are those?” he asked, pulling the blankets up to his chest.

She looked a bit sheepish, but didn’t hide away what she was doing. “I’ve been doing some research. Apparently your lack of… _sexual drive_ might be more psychological than physical.”

Castiel felt a frown cross his face. Sex was something they did, not talked about. “I don’t follow.”

Tessa pushed a bright blue pamphlet towards him. Along the top were the words: ‘The Benefits of Sexual Therapy.’ Tessa read aloud from the front cover, _“Your lack of desire for sex is based on what your brain is telling you. A sexual therapist helps you talk through what’s holding you back and work on reclaiming your sex drive.”_

“I… I don’t know, Tess…”

She turned on her side towards him, propping herself up on her elbow. “Think about it, though. You need your teeth fixed, you go to the dentist. You have a problem with your eyes, you go to an optometrist. Someone dies, you see a grief counsellor. You—”

He raised his hand, gently cutting her off. “I get your point. But… you really think I need… _this_?”

Her eyes turned sad as she looked away from him. “Cas, I miss… _us._ I miss being close and feeling you all around me. Since you got sick we barely even touch anymore. I just want to get back to the way things were. And if that means therapy, then so be it.”

“Would it make you happy if I did this?”

“Cas, it’s not about me. I think this could really help you.”

He laid back in bed and frowned, brushing his hands over his tired face. “I don’t know, Tess. The thought of having to talk to another woman about my sexual inadequacies just seems even more traumatizing.”

“First of all, you’re not _inadequate_. Second,” she leaned over, pointing to a spot on the bottom of the glossy sheet, “it says they have male therapists, too.”

His wife could say it over and over — but Castiel would never _not_ feel inadequate. He sighed and turned to look at her. “Okay. I’ll try it. But if I don’t like it—”

“Then we can walk away. But, does that mean you’ll give it a shot?”

\--- **Session One** \---

Their initial appointment with a therapist at the Sexual Health and Wellness clinic lasted an entire forty-five minutes. The therapist looked over their profile and background information, before recommending that they spend a few sessions with a ‘sex surrogate.’

Castiel had absolutely _no_ idea what a sex surrogate was. Castiel would continue to see his therapist regularly to discuss the emotional side of things, but the surrogate would offer a more ‘hands-on’ approach to the sexual issues. It sounded like some kind of weird dominatrix shit, but the therapist promised that he would be meeting with one of the best in the industry, a licensed therapist with specific training in the art of sexual surrogacy. 

Of course, that point could be argued when the ‘appointment’ location was actually a local bar and grill. 

But if Castiel thought it strange that he would be meeting his new therapist over beer and wings, he didn’t say anything. The appointment had originally been for both Castiel and Tessa, but a last-minute work emergency — no less than three other nurses at her hospital had called in sick — had Tessa dropping Castiel off at the bar by himself instead. He was almost relieved that he’d be facing it on his own, but didn’t dwell on _why_.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she asked.

He nodded, reaching into the backseat to grab his favorite black leather jacket. “I’ll be fine, babe. Worst case scenario — I’ll just order another beer and call a cab.”

She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. “I’m really proud of you, do you know that?”

“I do. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”

He got out of the car and watched his wife drive away. Looking to the entrance of the bar, he took a deep breath. Just when he worked up enough courage to head inside, however, he was stopped by a voice behind him.

“Pardon me, are you Castiel?”

Cas spun around to see a smiling green-eyed man, a couple of inches taller than him, but also perhaps a few years younger. “I am.”

The man’s smile widened and he held out his hand. “Dean Winchester. I’m your surrogate.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. But an easy-going, jeans and rock t-shirt guy like the one in front of him was definitely _not_ it. He shook Dean’s hand before reaching back to scratch at his neck and the short hairs there. “Uh, hey.”

“I’ve got us a table reserved,” Dean mused, stepping into the restaurant. He waved at the hostess before heading towards a table in the far corner. When they sat down, a young blonde waitress walked up with two menus. Dean waited for her to walk away, before smiling at Castiel. “My friend Jo owns this place. She has her own brewery on the other side of town and hasn’t yet made a microbrew that I haven’t liked.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a beer drinker,” Castiel said, pulling a menu towards himself. “You’ll have to tell me what’s good.” 

“Well, I would recommend two options: the summer IPA that she has on tap right now is amazing for a light beer, or if you _really_ don’t like the flavor — she has a blackberry ale that’s good.”

“I guess I’ll give the blackberry one a try.”

Dean nodded and continued to smile as he waved the waitress back over. While she made her way through the crowd, he looked back to Castiel, “What’s your spice tolerance on chicken wings?”

“Uh, medium?”

The waitress arrived and Dean easily ordered a cider for Cas, a porter for himself, and a basket of wings for them to share. “Thanks Brittany,” he said, before focusing on Castiel again. “I hope you don’t mind me ordering… my brother says I can be a bit annoying when I do that.”

“Oh, uh, not at all. Like I said, I really wouldn’t know what to get.” Despite the supposed purpose of their meeting, it felt surprisingly like meeting a friend or coworker for drinks. Easy, relaxed.

“Good.” Dean smiled. “So the profile I was sent says you’re an advertising consultant — have you done anything I’d be familiar with?”

Castiel drummed his fingers on the vinyl tablecloth. “You ever drive down Franklin, over by the grocery store?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve seen the billboards for the radio station there? The local one?”

“Yeah, did you design those?”

Castiel shrugged. “I helped.” Their drinks arrived and Cas took a sip. It was crisp and dry — not too sweet at all. “This is good,” he mused. 

“Of course,” Dean nodded. “I know beer just about as well as I know sex. So, a lot.” He winked and held his own glass up in a silent salute, before taking a sip.

Castiel felt his face blush at that and took another drink to hide his face. Even in college he’d never really had any friends he could talk about sex with openly. He was vaguely aware that ‘locker room talk’ was a thing among men, but it wasn’t something that had ever come up. He couldn’t think of a reply to Dean. 

His discomfort was apparently obvious. “It’s alright, Cas, I’m not goin’ to discuss that stuff here. This meeting is less about _sex_ and more about you and I getting comfortable around each other. Tell me about your wife. How long have you two been married?”

That was an easier topic, at least in terms of small talk. People asked questions like that all the time. “Five years this fall,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah? How’d you meet?”

“I broke my foot.”

Dean narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What, you tripped over her?”

“Oh, no. She’s a nurse. We met at the hospital I got admitted to.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “That’s good. I was expecting this big thing but it was just… normal.” He took another sip of his beer. “Any kids?”

“No. We’d started trying, before I got sick. But that sort of… put a damper on things.”

“Yeah, of course. But you’ve gotten the green flag? All healthy? No cancer?”

“So far, yes.”

“Good. Cancer is straight up bullshit. Both of my grandmothers died from breast cancer when I was young. I hate it.” Brittany walked back over to their table with a basket of wings and refills on their beers. She set everything down on the table before winking seductively at Dean as she walked away. “I don’t know what that girl expects from me — she can’t be any older than eighteen.”

“Probably a decent tip.”

“Probably. The service industry is weird.”

Castiel’s first glass was empty, and so he moved onto his second. “I’ll drink to that.” After another sip of beer, they began working on the basket of hot wings. Castiel was slowly starting to relax with each passing minute — especially when Dean started to discuss the hockey game on one of the television screens hanging behind the bar. The conversation stayed casual and easy, and one hour began to bleed into the next. 

Cas’ hands were covered in hot sauce and he was pulling the last bit of chicken off a bone, when he finally found the nerve to ask, “So how exactly will this work? I assume we won’t meet at a bar every session. What will happen next time?”

“Well,” Dean put down the bone of the wing he’d been eating and opened one of the moist wipe packets on their table. “If you’re comfortable, we’ll meet at the clinic. The second session is still typically mostly talking, but we’ll just go with what works for all parties involved. There’s no schedule that’s set in stone.” He balled up the paper towel, setting it on a dirty plate. “Will your wife be joining us for future sessions?”

Castiel considered that. He knew that logically Tessa _should_ be involved. She was, after all, his partner. But there was still something about sharing that part of himself that seemed harder do with someone he knew and loved. “I… I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we work up to that? I’ve found with patients in the past that sometimes it’s better to work through the initial steps of therapy one-on-one and then add in the partner.” Dean took another sip of his beer, before continuing, “Our first few sessions will focus on good communication — and it’s hard to open yourself up to that when the person you need to communicate well with is sitting there staring you in the face.”

“That makes sense, yes.”

Dean smiled. “A lot of this does. That’s the beauty of it. So… do you have any questions? About what we’re going to be doing?”

Castiel swallowed. He was still nervous, but the drinks and food and bar patrons yelling at the hockey game had helped him relax somewhat. “Are you… going to be touching me?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Cas, there will be touching. It’s going to take a couple sessions, but that will be part of the therapy. At first it will be non-sexualized. Then we’ll move on to learning new techniques. Things that you can do with Tessa, and by yourself. I’m going to help you feel like you live in your own body again.”

“So… you’re basically a sex tutor.”

Dean laughed, his head thrown back, one hand slapping the table. “I guess you could put it that way, yeah.”

“I just…” Castiel wiped his hands on a napkin and restlessly tugged at it even after his fingers were clean. “I’m not gay. I don’t want this to be weird.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird — hell, if it does feel weird then I’m not doing my job. But your therapist told me that you weren’t comfortable working with a woman, right?”

“That’s true.”

“Cas, whatever we do has no bearing on your sexuality. This is all about you learning yourself better. I’m just the tour guide.”

He nodded and finished off his third beer. “Okay. I guess I can be open to that, then. But if we reach my limits, I can say so, right?”

“I’m trusting that you will — otherwise we’d be going backwards, and what’s the point in that, right?”

“Right.” Castiel smiled nervously, “Then I’m ready. The therapist said the norm is twelve sessions over three months?”

“You got it.” Dean winked at him. “So, see you next week?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

\---

It was almost one in the morning when Tessa finally got home from work. Castiel was already in bed, watching mindless late night shows while he waited for his wife. When she walked into the master suite, he smiled. “Hey,” he spoke softly, watching her strip out of her scrubs.

“Hey sweetie,” she said, a smile spreading over her tired face. “How was your thing?”

“Better than expected.” He watched her go into the bathroom to scrub off her makeup and brush out her hair, before she finally walked over to the bed and climbed beneath the covers on her side. For the first time since his surgery, Cas sought her out for a cuddle — wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her close. “How was work?”

Tessa sighed, and reached around behind her to turn off the lamp before snuggling in close to Castiel. “Stupid and hectic. Would have been better if we’d had more than two nurses on the entire floor. But I survived.” She shifted down in the bed, resting her head on Cas’ chest. “So what was the guy like?”

“Late twenties, wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that looked original. We drank beer, ate hot wings, and talked about mundane life stuff.” He buried a kiss in her hair. “It was surprisingly… okay.”

“That’s really great, honey.” She yawned, and rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“I love you, Tess,” Cas whispered. He reached down to tilt her chin up and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Thank you for staying by my side through all of this.”

“Of course, Cas,” she whispered back. “Where else would I be?”


	2. Chapter 2

\--- **Session Two** \---

When Castiel arrived at Dean’s ‘office,’ it wasn’t a typical doctor’s office. Instead, it was a converted one story house with a sign on the front door that read _‘Dr. Dean Winchester, Psy.D.’_ The door was unlocked, so he entered with an uncomfortable, “H-hello?”

From down a hallway in the center of the house, Dean called back, “Have a seat anywhere, Cas. I’m just finishing up some paperwork.”

Castiel nodded, even though he was alone, and turned to his right to find a living room set up with a comfortable couch and loveseat, and a flat screen television hanging over a fireplace. The television was muted, turned to what looked like a Spanish soap opera, judging by the subtitles and angry-looking Hispanic women on the screen.

He sat down in a plush armchair that had a knitted blanket thrown over the back of it. Near the chair a small wooden table held a stack of books. He leaned over, craning his neck to look at the one sitting on the top of the pile and read the title, _’Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships’._ He sat back. He didn’t think _that_ was his and Tessa’s problem.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Dean entered the room. “Castiel, it’s good to see you again. Did you find the place okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel forced a nervous smile. “Right off Third, just like you said.” He ran his hands along the tops of his jean covered legs. Dean had been adamant at their first meeting — only comfortable clothes. “So, um… what happens first?”

“Well, that depends. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, sorry?”

“Because I’ve got some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want. I could heat you up a slice. It _does_ have mushrooms though, I’m warning you now.”

“Um, no. I’m fine, thank you.”

“Alright then.” Dean’s smile was open and easy, as always. “Come on back into the office.”

Cas nodded, standing up to follow Dean down the hallway. On the way to the back they passed two open doorways — one lead to a bathroom, the other to a perfectly normal looking bedroom. “You could practically live here,” he mumbled to himself.

Dean turned back to him with a grin. “Funny you should say that — I _do_ live here.”

“You do?” They stopped at the end of the hall. On their right was a closed door, and on the left was the doorway to a nice looking office. He motioned to the closed door. “Your bedroom, I assume?” Dean nodded and Castiel couldn’t help but frown. “Doesn’t that weird you out? Being so intimate with patients right down the hall from…”

Dean shrugged, standing to the side to let Castiel walk into the office past him. “It’s never really been an issue for me. Even when I have sex with clients it’s different than with someone I’m seeing personally.”

Castiel sat down on the loveseat that Dean gestured to, and his next question was rolling past his lips before he had a chance to stop it. “Ever do both in the same day?”

Dean chuckled, taking a seat in an armchair across from Castiel. Apparently asking wildly personal questions was okay. “I wish my schedule allowed it,” he answered with a smirk on his lips. “Hell, I wish my stamina allowed it.”

“Please. Just wait until you’re thirty-four.” _And lose a testicle._

Dean picked up a cup of coffee that was sitting on a nearby bookshelf, sipped it, made a face, and put it back. “Is stamina an issue for you?”

“It used to be. Before. The doctor said that had to do with the tumor, though. So…” Cas shrugged his shoulders, tucking his hands between his knees and staring at the floor. “Who knows.”

“So tell me, Cas.” Dean reached over the shelf once again but this time retrieved a deck of cards. “What do you like about sex?”

He watched closely as Dean sat across from him and began shuffling the cards before dealing them out on the coffee table between them. “I uh… I have no idea.”

“Fair enough. Would you say that you do like it, though?”

“I used to, I suppose. Our first year of marriage was amazing. Then I started getting more clients and Tessa finished her nursing degree. Suddenly something we did at least once a day, turned into a once-a-week-if-we-felt-up-to-it thing.”

Dean nodded, and pushed a pile of cards towards Castiel. He picked up his own hand, shuffling the cards around a little before placing a pair of sixes down in front of him and asking, “You got any nines?”

He couldn’t help himself — it dawned on Castiel what game Dean was playing and he chuckled. “Go fish.”

Dean picked up a card. “Did you have many sexual partners before you and Tessa got together?”

“No.” He laid out a pair of aces. “Got any threes?” A moment later Dean handed over the three of clubs, and Castiel set down another pairing. “Two. Lost my virginity in college. Horrible experience. Tried again with one of my best friends a few months later. Another horrible experience. Decided to focus on school.” He didn’t talk about the years he went celibate because he felt like he wasn’t ever going to be good at sex. Or the three months it took for him to finally go all the way with Tessa.

“Um… got any Jacks?”

“No. Go fish.”

“What was horrible about those times?”

It felt remarkably like they were talking about the weather, or sharing marinade recipes. “Ever had someone strip you naked and laugh at you?” He didn’t dare look up at Dean. “I was raised in a _very_ religious family. I wasn’t allowed to take sexual education classes in school. The first naked woman that I saw was my first partner.” He shrugged and stared down at the cards in his hand. “When I was thirteen and woke up with a hard-on, my little brother told our father. I was shamed for it, severely. So that first time, I couldn’t… she spent an hour trying to get me hard.”

“Performance anxiety is a real thing. It’s not something to be mocked,” Dean supplied. “Everyone gets that way.”

“She had to show me which hole to use. And when we finally figured it out, I managed one move before it was over.” He shuddered at the memory. “She called me ridiculous. Said I was a waste of her time when after all that I ‘couldn’t even last’.” Castiel finally looked up at the man across from him. “Got any tens?”

Dean passed him the appropriate card from his hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. That’s shitty.” He looked through his cards again, and put down a pair that he apparently hadn’t noticed before. “I was seventeen when I lost my virginity. I thought it was going to be this amazing perfect moment… and then my thirteen-year-old brother walked in right before I climaxed.”

Castiel felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. “That’s… awkward.”

“Never trust them, Cas,” he said with a stern shake of his head. “Never trust your kid siblings when they say they’re going to be at a friend’s house after school.”

Cas put his cards face down on the table. “How did you… how did you get over that? Do you and your brother still talk?”

“Of course.” Dean smiled, a proud glint in his eyes. “I couldn’t imagine my life without talking to my brother at least once a day. Sam is freakin’ fantastic. Smart and funny and brave. He was banned from my room forever and we _never_ talk about that day, but in general it’s just one of those things. Something funny to tell people.”

Castiel frowned. He couldn’t imagine any sort of sexual mishap being treated as no big deal.

“You’re looking awfully reflective there, Cas,” Dean added after a silent minute.

“It’s just — how can people be so _open_ about these things? I could barely look my brother in the eye for _months_ after that. I can’t imagine what would have happened if he’d actually walked in on me… you know.”

Dean set his cards down on the table and clasped his hands together as he leaned forward. “When you have sex, do you focus on the pleasure or the fact that what you’re doing is a means of procreation?”

Castiel scratched a spot on the back of his hand. “Well, until Tessa, procreation was definitely not a desired outcome.”

“So sex was about reaching an orgasm. Or…” Dean paused and raised an eyebrow, “Was sex something you did because you thought that’s what you were supposed to do?”

“Dean, do you drink coffee?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the half-cup on the bookshelf. “When I don’t leave it lying around for hours at a time, yes.”

“I’m not fond of it myself, but I love the smell. You know when you walk down the coffee aisle in a grocery store and you can smell it all around you and it just smells _amazing_? I love the smell so much that every once in awhile I’ll forget that I don’t actually like coffee that much. Or maybe I think that I’ll like it _this_ time. I’ll buy a bag, grind the beans, brew up a pot, and not be able to swallow barely one mouthful.”

“I get it,” Dean said with a nod. “Haven’t ever been particularly fond of the smell of sweaty bodies, but I get where you’re coming from.” When Castiel gave him a bugged out look, Dean laughed. “My first day of college I thought: I’ve gotta take up drinking coffee if I’m going to survive this. I hated it immediately. It was too bitter and tasted so disgusting that I couldn’t figure out why people drank so much of it. And then finals happened, and suddenly I was downing coffee left and right because I _had_ to get through. Second semester, I found myself back at school walking up to the coffee kiosk and ordering their largest cup, black. It was still bitter, and I still didn’t get it, but I kept trying. Now I can’t live without it. I’m even picky about what brand I buy.” 

Castiel suddenly realized how his own analogy had gotten turned around on him. “ _Oh._ ”

“Next week when you come, wear the same type of clothes that you’d wear to the gym, okay?” When Cas nodded, Dean stood up. “Good. Our time is up. Let me walk you out. Do you have any other questions?”

Castiel took a deep breath. They’d done nothing but sit and talk, and play cards, but somehow he’d just felt like he’d run a marathon. “No, I think I’m good. Thank you, Dean.”

\--- **Dean** \---

“I can’t believe you actually had time for me.”

Dean watched his little brother hold a hand to his heart dramatically, and couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I have seven clients on my roster right now, Sam. I don’t have a lot of time to go out for drinks.”

“Not true!” A voice called from across the bar. Dean looked up to see Jo bringing them their beers. “You were in here last week with someone. Don’t think I didn’t see you, Dean.”

Sam pouted immediately, but Dean cut his words off. “I was here with a _client_ Jo-Jo. First meeting.”

“You bring your clients to bars? Shit, why can’t I have a job like that?” 

“Because you’re still knee-deep in writing your thesis and deciding what you want to be in life?” Dean shook his head. “So how’s my favorite redhead? She get wise up and dump you yet?”

Sam took a deep swig of his beer. “Charlie’s good. And honestly, she’s a saint. I’m a lucky man.”

Dean faked a cough. “Put a ring on it.”

Sam landed a well-practiced punch to his brother’s arm. “Shut up, Dean.” 

“I’m not getting any younger, Sam. I want nieces and nephews before I’m forty.” 

“So why don’t _you_ tell Charlie that?”

“I did.” Dean snorted into his beer. “And she _literally_ kicked my ass. You two are a very violent couple.”

“Yeah well, that’ll teach you.” Sam smiled as he took another drink.

\---

The next morning was one of those rare ones when neither of them had to be anywhere early. Tessa had even made waffles. Castiel was in the shower, after their breakfast, when the bathroom door opened and Tessa peered inside.

“Hey handsome,” she said. “There room for one more?”

Castiel frowned, hands still rubbing soap gently along his scalp and the short hairs there. “I, uh… guess?” He felt dread pooling in his stomach as he turned to face the faucet so his back would be to his wife when she stepped in the shower. “I’m not going to be very long.”

“That’s okay.” He saw her out of the corner of his eye slip out of her pajamas and hang them on the towel rack. She slid in behind him, pulling the shower curtain closed carefully after her, and placed a hand on his back. “What’s that they say — _‘Conserve water, shower with a friend’_?”

He bit his bottom lip to keep from jumping out of his skin when she touched him. He reached for his bottle of body wash, hoping to hurry through the task of cleaning so that he could make an excuse and leave the shower.

“Oh, do you mind if I use some of yours?” she asked, pointing to the bottle in his hand. “Mine ran out, I haven’t gotten to the store yet.”

“Uh, sure.”

She reached over his shoulder to grab the shower pouf hanging from the rack under the shower head. She held it in front of him, waving it slightly near his hand. “Gel me.”

He wrapped his free hand around her wrist to keep her hand steady as he poured some of the body wash out for her. Once he had, he bent forward and grabbed for the wash cloth that he had set on the edge of the tub before he got in.

He relaxed somewhat while she washed herself — he could feel the familiar movements behind him — but it didn’t last for very long. “Turn around,” she said. “I’ll soap you up.”

Castiel quickly shook his head and clutched the cloth tighter in his hands. “It’s okay,” he managed. “I got it.”

“Oh, all right.” The disappointment in her voice was clear. “Cas… you know you have nothing to be embarrassed about with me, right? I love _all_ of you.”

There was no doubt in his mind that she meant every word. Unfortunately, Castiel could barely stand to touch himself — let alone having someone else look at it or touch it. It was all he could do to let a doctor examine it on occasion. He pushed the shower curtain aside and stepped out, not caring that he was dripping soap and water all over the bathroom. “I’m not ready for that, Tessa,” he growled. “Just, please, respect my wishes.”

He heard the shampoo bottles go crashing to the tub as he slammed the door behind him. He didn’t care if she was angry, though. She wasn’t the one dealing with the emotional trauma that he was going through. She wasn’t the one afraid to look at her own body.


	3. Chapter 3

\--- **Session Three** \---

“I don’t know about this,” Castiel whispered. His third week of therapy had him showing up at Dean’s office dressed in light-weight shorts, a t-shirt from his alma mater, and a worn down pair of tennis shoes. It was his typical running attire — just like Dean had requested. He figured it was a comfort tactic. What he wasn’t expecting was for Dean to offer him a beer in the front living room, before telling Castiel that they were going to do a body image task to begin with.

Dean walked with him to the guest bathroom and motioned inside. “I’m going to stand out here, while you go into the bathroom and strip naked.” At Castiel’s raised eyebrow, Dean held up his hands and shook his head, “I’m not going in there, Cas. The door has a lock, I’m perfectly okay with you using it if it makes you feel better. I’m going to stand on this side of the door while you tell me the things you like about yourself.”

“I don’t — I don’t know, Dean.” Castiel felt his heartbeat start to increase. He pressed the edge of his fingernail into the side of his thumb. “Is that really necessary?”

“No, of course not.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back to lean against the opposite wall. “It’s been a pleasure, Castiel, but I suppose if you aren’t willing to get naked, we’ll have to call this the end of our therapy sessions together.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean was being honest, but he wasn’t confident enough to call Dean’s bluff, either. For all he’d held back in their previous session together, Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he’d told one person so much about his personal history. He was starting to realise that he’d felt miserable for years — and that he didn’t want to feel that way anymore. “Fine,” he said, walking past Dean, his eyes on the floor. “What do I have to do?”

Dean stepped to the edge of the bathroom and reached into where a black marker sat on the counter. He held it out to Castiel. “On the back of the door is a full length mirror. This is a washable marker. I want you to strip completely and look at yourself in the mirror. On one side, I want you to write down the ten things you hate most about your body. On the other side, I want you to write ten things you _love_ most about your body. When your lists are written, you’re going to remain naked while you read them out to me, and we’re going to discuss each one. When you’re done, I’ll let you take a shot out of any bottle in the liquor cabinet.”

He looked at the marker in Dean’s hand, willing himself to not be intimidated by a writing implement. “You’re bribing me with alcohol?”

“I also have pie.”

“That’s still bribery.” His stomach rolled as he looked at the room around him. 

It was obvious that Dean could sense his uneasiness. “Would you like me to go first?” Castiel raised an eyebrow, wondering how _that_ would work. Dean quickly explained, “I’m comfortable in my skin. So if it makes you feel better, I will strip down right here, turn the mirror around to face this side of the door, and you can watch me point out my own flaws.”

“I think I would appreciate that, yes.”

“Great! Hold this.” He passed Castiel the marker and stepped forward, lifting the mirror from the back of the door and re-hooking it on the side facing the hallway. Once the mirror was settled, he promptly pulled his t-shirt over his head, draping it on a table sitting a couple feet away. Looking straight ahead, he unbuckled his belt, pushing down his jeans and stepping out of them. After the jeans got tossed on top of his t-shirt, he slid off his red boxer briefs and added them to the pile. Just like that, he was completely nude, hand extended for the black marker.

Castiel held out the marker, still feeling uneasy — but now for a completely different reason. It was like standing in the locker room in high school and watching the football captain strip. Dean was long lines of muscle and tan and perfect proportions. His eyes fell down to his own body and he could imagine the thin and lanky runner’s body that he had never been able to grow out of. When he was in college, he would spend countless hours in the gym trying to gain muscle — but it never made a difference. 

He forced his eyes back up, watching as Dean labeled the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ lists at the top of the mirror. Despite the fact that Dean looked like a respectable doctor while clothed, the man was _inked_. There were enough tattoos that Castiel couldn’t take them all in right away without staring.

Dean took a step back, looking at himself appraisingly. “Well, I guess I’ll get the shitty list over with first.”

Castiel had no idea how the man in front of him could possibly find _ten_ things he hated about his body.

With a smirk, Dean looked over to Cas. “I always start in the same place, Cas.” He looked down his body, eyes falling on his feet. “I have the biggest fucking toes, I swear.”

Castiel followed suit, looking at Dean’s feet. “I don’t think anyone _likes_ their toes. Toes are inherently strange appendages.”

 

“Still.” He reached up and scribbled _’weird gigantic toes’_ under the ‘bad’ category. “Since I start with my toes, I just go ahead and work my way up the body.” He scribbled again on the mirror. When his hand pulled away, Castiel saw the neatly written _’bowlegs.’_ Dean continued down the list, barely pausing in between each item. It was clear he knew exactly what he didn’t like.

Among the list, a couple of things stood out for Castiel. One was _‘stomach pudge’_ — looking at Dean’s stomach he had no idea what the man was talking about — and the other simply read, “‘Ex tattoo’?” Castiel wondered aloud.

Dean looked at him, and pointed to a name across his right pectoral muscle in flowery script that read, _’Jamie.’_ “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he offered in explanation. “I mean, who doesn’t do stupid shit when they’re young?”

“So Jamie’s not in the picture anymore, I take it.”

Dean laughed. “Not even close.”

Castiel found himself wondering what the mysterious Jamie was like, what kind of girl could capture Dean’s attention so fully. He got so caught up in thinking about it that he missed Dean moving onto the good list. It filled up with things like ‘hair like mom’s’ and ‘Sam tattoo.’

Tilting his head, Cas tried to find a tattoo like the Jamie one, that held the name ‘Sam’. He couldn’t spot any other names, though. “Which tattoo is Sam’s?”

Dean smiled as he stretched to show a roughly hand-sized portrayal of a cocoon transitioning into a butterfly that ran down his right side. “This one.”

Castiel could sense that there was a story, something significant, behind it, but nothing further was offered. 

Dean rounded out his second list with things like _’good fingernails’_ and _’even collarbone’_. When he reached ten, he turned to Castiel and said, “There any more of those you want to ask about?”

His eyes were glued to the last item on the list. _My dick._ He couldn’t imagine being proud of… _that._ But then again, Dean Winchester was practically a Greek God, so how was it surprising that he’d have an amazing penis as well? Castiel’s head dropped. “No,” he whispered. Getting Dean to do the assignment first was a horrible idea. “I can’t…” Moisture hit his cheeks and _FUCK_ he was a failure at being a man. “I can’t do this. This whole thing was a stupid idea. Tessa… Tessa is better off without me.”

Almost faster than Castiel could see, Dean dropped the pen, grabbed his underwear from the top of the pile, and slipped them back on. “Hey, hey, Cas,” Dean said in soothing tones, “it’s okay.” He stepped forward cautiously. “I’m going to lay my hand on your shoulder, is that okay?”

Castiel wasn’t sure he could even handle that. He shook his head.

Dean respected his answer and backed off. “I’m just going to get you some water, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” Dean pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside. Castiel heard the sink turn on and off, and when Dean reappeared a moment later he was holding a small paper cup of water.

After tossing the water back like a shot of whiskey, Castiel stared at the empty cup. “I hate all of it,” he whispered. “Every last bone and muscle and vein… just all of it.” He sank to the floor, right in the middle of the hallway.

Dean sat next to him. “Why?”

“Because I’m not…” he motioned to Dean, “that. I could never be that. I’m a skinny pale dude with a fake testicle and a mediocre dick. I can’t build muscle mass, I can’t gain weight, I have the thickest, coarsest pubic hair in the world when it isn’t non-existent from radiation treatments. And if you quizzed my three previous lovers I’m pretty sure they would all say I never once gave them an orgasm. So what the fuck kind of man am I?” 

“You’re a human one.” Dean motioned down at himself. “Do you think I always looked like this, Cas? I was fifty pounds overweight until I hit drinking age. Why do you think my stupid belly pudge still bothers me? Because we’re all imperfect beings trying to reach perfection. It’s an impossible goal. Everyone is messed up. Everyone has flaws. It’s _okay_. Being messed up is fine.”

When Castiel said nothing, Dean rose, picking up the cup, and refilled it. 

He sat down next to Castiel again, and passed him the water. “Cas, tell me how it feels for you to be here right now.”

It seemed like a simple enough question.

Castiel looked at the cup in his hand, contemplating the waxy covering on its surface. “I feel… embarrassed. Ashamed that I’m never going to look like you, and ashamed that I feel terrible that I’m never going to look like you.” He raised his head, finally looking Dean in the eyes again. “Thirty-four year old men aren’t supposed to have… _’body issues’._ ”

“No one’s ‘supposed’ to, but everyone does.” When Castiel huffed derisively in response, Dean continued. “Tell me something.”

“What?”

“What’s so bad about being embarrassed?”

Castiel couldn’t help looking at Dean like he was an idiot. How the hell did this man ever get a doctorate in anything? “It feels fucking awful. Obviously.”

“Sure it does,” he conceded. “But will it kill you?”

“Of course not.”

Dean stared at him, obviously waiting for something to click into place. “Cas, you survived _cancer_. You think being shirtless in front of a mirror is going to do you in?”

“Oh.”

With an easy smile, Dean stood. “Okay, stand up. We’ll start small.” He motioned to the hallway and the mirror. “Do you feel comfortable standing here without a shirt on?”

“No,” Castiel said, draining the small cup once more and rising to his feet. “But I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dean’s grin felt near-infectious. He waited patiently while Castiel set the cup down on the table beside Dean’s clothes, before he pulled his shirt over his head. He took the time to neatly fold it, before finally turning back to Dean. The therapist continued to smile as he held out the marker. “I could clean the mirror first, but I want you to see your faults next to mine.”

Castiel took the pen, hardly needing to think before writing down his first item. 

Dean leaned forward, reading the words aloud. “‘My hair is growing back greyer than it was before.’”

“I was okay with it,” Castiel said, softly, “The whole ‘hey you have to be bald for a while’ thing. But then it started growing back and _fuck_ growing old sucks.”

Dean nodded sympathetically. “What next?”

He stared at his reflection for a moment before leaning forward and writing. _One side of face is higher than the other. Lanky — no muscle to speak of. Weird nipples. Chest hair grows in patches. Body hair is too thick._ The marker was about to keep writing when Dean reached out to grab his wrist. 

“Easy,” he said. “You’re at six and we haven’t even gotten close to your toes.”

Castiel blanched and looked down at his sock-covered feet. “How do you know my toes are weird?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said no one likes their toes.”

He was right, of course. Castiel thought about the fact that his second toe was longer than his big toe… and promptly reached up to write that down. _Seven._ His hands shook a little. He was at seven items and hadn’t even taken his running shorts off yet. He continued scribbling.

_Weird birthmark on back. Pale skin. Bony hips. That one mole that keeps growing obscene hairs._

Dean continued to watch him write without mentioning the fact that he had gone over ten items already. He laid his hands on his hips and asked in a gentle voice, “Have you examined your scars? And the prosthetic? Or do you avoid looking at it as much as possible?”

Castiel dropped his head and looked down his body at the front of his shorts. “I don’t like to look at it, no. I don’t even…” he shrugged. “I use a sponge to clean that area as quickly as possible so I don’t have to touch it.”

“Well,” Dean said, “We can’t put it on the list if we don’t look at it. So it’s up to you.” 

_Shit._ He felt like pouting. “Sometimes I forget you’re actually a therapist — and then you say things like that.” While Dean threw his head back and laughed, Castiel reached for the waistband of his shorts and nervously tucked his thumbs beneath it. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and pushed the shorts and his underwear down his body.

When he opened his eyes again he stared resolutely at his own face in the mirror, not letting his eyes drift downward at all. Dean stood patiently beside him. When he did finally look down, eyes tracking past his bony hips and pale skin, he was surprised at what he saw.

He didn’t look that bad. The scar from his surgery lay in a crease along the base of his penis and scrotum and was so well hidden that he actually had to tilt his head to see it. 

“Talk to me about what you were expecting,” Dean urged.

“I don’t know.” Castiel looked from side to side to compare his testicles. If not for the scar and the fact that he knew which one was fake, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell. “I guess I half expected it to be abnormally large or small.”

Dean shook his head. “Looks normal to me.”

“Yeah.” He nervously reached down to lift his flaccid cock so that he could see better. 

“Do they feel the same?”

His right hand moved down to cup both in his hands. Again, where he had expected an obvious difference in weight and density, he found nothing. They felt… normal. Both of them.

“Castiel,” Dean said, pulling his attention away from the mirror. “Do you feel the need to write another item on the mirror?”

“I…” His gaze flicked quickly from his body to the mirror and then back again, and his answer was completely honest. “No.”

\---

“Castiel has been seeing a therapist. Doesn’t he look so refreshed?”

Cas sat at the dining room table and stared at his wife in shock. They were eating dinner with Castiel’s sister and brother-in-law and he couldn’t believe that Tessa would so easily announce his personal issues. He avoided looking at Hannah and Greg as he focused on his prime rib.

“That’s great, Cas. Tessa is right — you look much healthier these days,” Hannah mused from across the table.

He wasn’t quite sure how three sessions with Dean made him look ‘healthier’ or _’refreshed’._ Hell, all they had actually done was talk a lot and then spend an insane amount of time naked in front of a mirror. 

He could feel the expectant atmosphere in the room, despite the fact that he wasn’t looking up at the others, and knew that they were waiting for him to talk about his therapy sessions. Instead, he continued to focus on his food. He wasn’t going to talk about it. It didn’t matter if Hannah was a lot more understanding about these things than his parents or brother — she was still far too conservative to ever think that seeing a _sex therapist_ was a good and logical thing.

And he wasn’t going to listen to comments that would make him feel ashamed when he was finally starting to feel like he might be making progress.

Greg cleared his throat and offered a topic change. “Hannah got a promotion at the church.”

Just like that, the women were busy talking about Hannah’s job. Castiel sent a thankful glance over to his brother-in-law.


	4. Chapter 4

\--- **Dean** \---

Once Dean was properly prepped, he walked naked into the spare bedroom and smiled reassuringly at his client. Michael had come to him with a desire to learn how to top during sex. He and his partner had been together for almost a year, and his partner was ready to explore switching roles in the bedroom, instead of Michael always being the bottom because of performance anxiety.

“Alright Michael.” He moved other to where the older man was waiting at the edge of the bed. “Which position did you want to try first?”

“I don’t know,” he said, nervously scratching at the back of his head. “What do you think?”

“You talked about how Adam likes to watch you during sex, so why don’t I lay on the edge of the bed on my back, and you can hold my legs against your shoulders while you thrust.”

Michael nodded, gathering himself. “O-okay.”

“You can get yourself hard whenever you’re ready,” Dean said. “Think about whatever you need to.”

Michael stood and began stroking himself, and was at his full length within a few minutes. He took a condom from the bowl on the nightstand and rolled it onto himself while Dean coated his fingers in lube and spread a little more onto his already-slick entrance. Dean lifted his legs, resting his calves on Michael’s shoulders as the other man leaned forward over him.

Just as he was nudging the head of his cock against Dean’s hole, however, he frowned. “You’re not hard.”

Dean glanced down at his soft dick and shrugged. “This is just about you right now. I’ll probably get a little hard once we get going, but I’m not the focus today.” He had taught himself long ago how to control his own arousal, and he didn’t usually allow it when dealing with clients unless he needed to. Not to mention the fact that though he didn’t _mind_ bottoming — it took a lot of work for him to get off when he was on the bottom. Unless his top knew how to hit his prostate just right, which Michael wouldn’t on the first go around. “It’s not because of you, Michael,” he reassured.

“You’re sure I’m not going to hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine, but see? You’re concerned about your partner’s well-being. That’s good, Michael. I’m proud of you.”

The other man smiled, relief spreading over his face.

“I’m ready when you are,” Dean said.

“Okay.”

\--- **Session Four** \---

“You said last week that you use a sponge in the shower and avoid touching yourself — would I be correct to assume that you haven’t tried to masturbate since your surgery?”

Castiel drummed his fingers along the island counter as he sat on a bar stool and watched Dean make a pitcher of sweet tea. He had known his therapist for almost a month, and it was getting easier and easier to answer personal questions. “No, of course not.”

“After our exercise last week were you still uncomfortable with the idea of cleaning yourself with your hands?”

He thought about his past few showers and how it hadn’t bothered him as much to run a washcloth over his testicles. “I switched to a cloth. Does that count as progress?”

Dean grinned and poured the tea into two glasses. “Of course it does.” He put the jug of tea into the fridge and carried the glasses towards a sliding glass door off the side of the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go out back.”

Castiel’s eyes skimmed over the white robe that Dean was wearing and he suddenly remembered that he was in a similar state of attire. When he had arrived at the house, Dean had handed him a white robe and told him to go into the bathroom, strip out of his clothes, and wear only the robe when he walked back out. 

He stood up, pulling the robe tighter around himself as he followed Dean out onto the patio. His eyebrows raised in surprise at the sight of a large hot tub built into the decking. Well then. “Are we going skinny dipping?” His eyes nervously shot to the privacy fencing around the backyard.

Dean caught him looking at the fence. “No one’s going to be able to see in — after I installed it I made sure to drop by the neighbors on all three sides to check that the hot tub wasn’t visible from anyone’s yard.” He chuckled. “Never made so many damn pies in one day before.” 

Castiel watched Dean drop his robe and settle into the hot tub after placing the drinks in built-in cupholders nearby. Despite the fact that they had already seen each other naked, he still felt uneasy. “What are we…” he frowned. “What’s going to be happening in the hot tub?” he finally managed to squeak out.

“Well,” Dean said, “I’m going to drink my tea, and ask you about your day. I was hoping you’d tell me about your day and maybe ask me about mine. I was also going to see if you wanted a back rub, but you don’t have to accept.”

That sounded far less intimidating than what Castiel had imagined. He nodded, dropping his robe quickly and sinking into the warm water. The tub was large enough that they could sit opposite from each other without even their knees bumping together. Once he was settled, he reached for his own glass and took a drink, before looking back at Dean. “Maybe we could… ease into touching?”

“Absolutely. How’s your tea?”

“Good.” Castiel ducked his gaze. “My wife stopped taking birth control last week. She says from an outsider standpoint I’m looking much better and she wants to start trying for a baby again.”

“What was the conversation like that led up to her going off her birth control?”

Castiel leveled a stern gaze at Dean. “There was no conversation.”

“What have you said to her about it since then?”

He sighed. “It usually involves a lot of ‘no, I’m not up to sex tonight.’”

“How does she react when you say that?”

“The first time it was fine — she gave me her usual pitying look and went to take a bath. The second time she got angry and accused me of not being attracted to her anymore.” Castiel picked at a hangnail on one thumb. “Two years ago... ” he coughed and avoided Dean’s gaze, “Two years ago she cheated on me. With one of the doctors she works with. I don’t blame her, really, because the guy was even better looking than _you_. But I forgave her and we worked through it and then I got sick… and now I just keep thinking that she’s going to go looking to him again, if I can’t get my shit together.”

Dean took another sip of his tea. “Have you two thought of pursuing couple’s counselling?”

“Done it before,” he mused. “Went for five months after she admitted she’d cheated.”

“Did you stop because you got sick, or for another reason?”

“We stopped because our insurance only covered so many sessions and Tessa felt like we had solved enough of our issues to carry on.” He shrugged and picked his glass of tea back up. “ _Then_ I got sick. Then I got better but _not_ better, so she suggested more therapy. But this time, for my sexual inadequacies instead of our marriage.”

“Is that how she phrased it?”

Castiel nodded.

“You know that that’s her baggage, and actually has nothing to do with you, right?”

His eyebrow arched as he focused his attention back on his therapist. “I take it you’ve never been married.”

“Technically, no. But I’ve been in relationships, and I know how hard it is to not internalize the other person’s opinions. Especially when they play up things you already feel shitty about.”

“So you don’t think that fixing all of this,” he gestured downward at himself, “will fix my marriage?” Cas frowned. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Not automatically, no.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, before shaking his head and closing it again. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been good at marriage counseling because it had been difficult for him to admit to himself that his marriage wasn’t all that he wanted it to be.

“Does my answer surprise you?” Dean asked.

“No,” he whispered, head ducked.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Dean said, moving across the water to sit next to Castiel.

“What?”

“You should be really proud of yourself.”

He snorted. “Yeah? Why is that? Because I can touch my dick in front of a mirror?”

“Yes,” Dean answered seriously. “But not just that. I know that all of this has been hard for you, and you’re making an effort. That’s not easy.”

“Dean,” he said, voice soft, “Do you think I’ll ever make love to my wife again and _enjoy_ it?”

“Cas, I think you’re going to be able to have whatever you want.”

“Okay. When do the erections come back?”

Dean set his glass aside and leaned forward. “How do you feel about trying an experiment? I know you turned down the back rub idea earlier, but I’ve found that light touch therapy generally leads to erections whether we want it to or not. It’s all about ‘being present in your own body,’ or so they say. If you’re up for it, we can dry off, find a good spot in the house, and then see what happens. If your body responds, I’ll leave you to your own devices and go finish up some paperwork.”

Castiel thought about the suggestion. He was slowly getting used to being naked around Dean, and although they’d barely touched aside from shaking hands or passing items to one another, the younger man had already demonstrated that he was serious about respecting boundaries. “Okay.” 

They did as Dean had suggested, shutting the hot tub off and climbing out of the water to wrap back up in their robes. After dropping their glasses off in the kitchen, Dean lead Cas into the living room where he was left standing in front of the couch, dripping onto the carpet, while Dean went to grab a couple of towels from the bathroom. 

Dean returned, and passed one of the fluffy white towels to Castiel. ‘How do we feel about being in here?”

“I’m okay with that,” Cas said. “I don’t want to drip all over your couch, though.”

“Well then, how about this?” Dean walked to the fireplace that occupied part of one wall and spread his towel on the floor in front of it. He bent down to flick a switch on the side of the mantle, and a fire came slowly flickering to life. “This way we don’t get the furniture wet _and_ we stay warm and dry.”

Castiel nodded and after a small moment of hesitation, dropped his robe onto the couch. He used the towel he still held to dry off as much as possible, before he walked over to the spot that Dean intended to use. Unease hit him immediately. “Isn’t this a little… romance movie-esque?”

“I can put on some Metallica if you’d like,” Dean joked.

“I don’t know about that, but I would enjoy a glass of wine—” Castiel frowned, “But then again, that might be even more of a cliché.”

Dean looked over his shoulder to where a cabinet with glass doors sat beside the entrance to the kitchen. “We never did get to hit up the liquor cabinet last time. How about a shot? I’ve got plenty of non-romantic shit in here — or so I’ve been told.”

“Bourbon?” Cas inquired, settling down onto the towel on the floor.

“Coming right up.” Dean walked over to the cabinet, opening the doors and picking up the appropriate bottle. “You mind if I have one too?”

“Be my guest.”

Dean returned with a tall bottle mostly full of honey-brown liquid and two shot glasses that he set in front of Castiel. Tossing his robe beside Castiel’s, he sat down, uncapped the bottle, and poured a shot for each of them. “Down the hatch,” he said, raising his shot.

He threw back the shot of bourbon and was thankful for the familiar burn sliding down his throat. Once the liquid was gone, he held out his glass to Dean. “One more. Just in case.”

Dean obliged him, and Castiel knocked back the second shot with even more ease than the first. “This is how it’s going to work,” he said, setting the bottle and shot glasses aside. “We’re going to practice you getting used to having my hands on your body. I’ll start with your hands and then move up your arms to your shoulders, and so on. I’ll touch your face, chest, back, and legs. We can talk if we need to, but the main idea is to focus on the touch. And if at any time you want me to stop, you just say so, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered. They were sitting across from each other, both with their legs crossed in front of them, knees almost touching. Castiel took a deep breath, before holding his hands out to Dean. “I’m ready.”

Dean took Castiel’s left hand in both his hands first. The skin of Dean’s hand had a little roughness to it, like whatever he spent his time doing when he wasn’t with clients involved manual labor of some kind. The intention behind his touch was gentle, but self-assured. He smoothed his hands all over Castiel’s before doing so up to his elbow and then starting with his other hand. He maintained eye contact with Castiel almost the entire time, glancing down now and then to watch their hands.

Though Castiel had expected it to be weird, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was less weird and more… _comforting._ Then again, the alcohol hitting his bloodstream also helped ease his worries. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift with the sensations of Dean’s touch moving up his arms.

Dean’s hands traveled up his shoulders, one hand on each, and slowly moved to cradle his face. Castiel sighed into each touch. It was far less forceful than a massage, but intensely therapeutic in its own right. He felt Dean lean forward to reach around his back, fingers splaying across his shoulder blades and down his spine. 

As Dean slipped his hands under Castiel’s arms and brought them over his sides and up to his chest, he asked quietly, “Can you lie back for me? I’m not going to touch your groin.”

Castiel blinked his eyes open and nodded, stretching his legs out and looking behind himself at the loveseat. He reached up to grab a pillow off of it, and settled it behind his head before laying down flat on the floor. His eyes slipped shut again as he relaxed.

Dean touched him on his chest, stomach, and legs in much the same way he had his arms and back. The heat coming from the fireplace was gentle and unobtrusive. He was vaguely aware of neighborhood noises coming from outside the house: a dog barking, a car driving by, the bell on someone’s bicycle.

Castiel realized suddenly that he had never taken the time with any of his partners — Tessa included — to just touch. It was always a rush to get undressed and find condoms and attempt proper foreplay, before finally getting to sex. He was too ashamed of his body to spend more time than was necessary in the nude. “‘S nice,” he whispered, feeling sleep tugging at the edges of his brain. 

He didn’t remember being tired, but between the touching and the hot tub — there was no way to stay awake.

\---

When Castiel woke, Dean was gone, but his clothes were folded neatly in a pile beside him. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but the sun appeared to have travelled across the sky somewhat. Pushing himself to sitting, he realised there was a handwritten note sitting on top of his clothes. _’Come find me in my office when you’re up,’_ the note read. _’No rush.’_

He pulled his clothes on and stretched once he was standing up. His back and neck were definitely protesting from the hours spent on the floor, but the ghost of fingertips on his skin was a soothing comfort that he had never expected to feel. Fully dressed, Castiel walked through the house to the back office and knocked lightly on Dean’s open door.

“Hey Cas, come on in,” Dean called. He was sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop, surrounded by open notebooks and scattered piles of paper.

“How long was I out?” Castiel asked, still feeling groggy.

“Oh,” Dean looked closely at the time on his computer screen, “about two hours.”

Tessa was going to freak out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning the device back on. While he waited for it to boot up, he looked back to Dean and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

“That’s fine. You’re definitely not the first. I called your wife, by the way. She said I should let you sleep. I happened to agree.”

He nodded, tucking his phone away again and reaching up to scratch at his short hair. “I should probably go. I’m sure she’ll have dinner ready. I know I went over time… if there’s any extra charge…” 

Dean waved his concerns away and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you were able to relax.”

“Thank you. Are there any… special instructions for next week?”

“Well,” Dean said, opening a drawer in front of him and rifling through it. “If you’re so inclined…” he lifted out a stack of papers and placed it on the floor. Castiel hadn’t really noticed it before, but there was a veritable mountainscape of stacks of books and papers littering the office floor. Dean shut the drawer, having apparently found what he was searching for. He stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of Castiel, pressing a thin, spiral-bound booklet into his hands. “You can read this,” he said.

Castiel looked at the book curiously. The cover showed an attractive man, maybe in his late-thirties, seemingly laughing at no one in particular. The title read, _’Prostate Orgasms and You.’_


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Castiel was aware of was the glaring morning sun in his eyes and he shut them tighter against the offensively bright rays. He thought back to how soothing, how _good_ Dean’s hands had felt only a few days before. As his mind slowly swirled closer to consciousness, he realised that he was only thinking about Dean’s hands touching him because there were actual hands touching him at that moment. They weren’t, however, touching him where Dean had.

His eyes were open in a flash and he watched in shock as his wife cupped his testicles and examined the area. The blanket was shoved to the foot of the bed, and his sleep pants had been pushed down to his hips. He felt his blood run cold. “What are you _doing_?” he growled, anger in his voice. Without waiting for her response, he shoved Tessa away and quickly pulled his pants back up, before stumbling out of bed.

“Cas, wait! I didn’t—”

“Didn’t _what_?” he hissed, rounding on her. “Didn’t think to ask my _permission_ before _touching_ me?”

“I just thought, with Dean touching you that it’d be okay—”

“Jesus Christ, Tessa! He didn’t touch me _there_!”

“He didn’t?” She looked genuinely surprised.

“No!”

“Then what the hell are we paying him for?”

“For _therapy_.” Castiel couldn’t believe that she’d had the audacity to touch him without his consent. “I’ve barely known the guy a _month_ , why would I let him touch me like that right away?” Castiel began gathering his clothes for a shower, his skin still prickling with anger. “I can’t believe you. I would _never_ touch you while you slept unless we both agreed it was okay beforehand.”

“It’s always okay, Cas, I’m your wife! Christ, I would love it if you would touch me again!”

“You don’t _own me_ , Tessa, nor I you. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean you have the right to touch my body whenever you want. You think that helps things? I’m insecure about all of this, and instead of giving me space and letting me work through it on my own time — you brag about my therapy to everyone and _grope me_ while I sleep.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry. You’re making progress, and I was just proud of you. I know you’re a private person, but I didn’t think you’d mind me talking about it in front of your _sister_.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and shut the bathroom door behind him, successfully closing down any further argument. His chest tightened at the thought of how little his wife knew about him if she thought he would _want_ people to know about his therapy sessions. How could she not realize after five years that he didn’t like sharing details of his private life with people? Even if they were family.

He crossed the bathroom in two easy strides and turned the water in the bath on full. Hopefully the noise would be a clear enough indication that he was done talking.

\--- **Session Five** \---

It wasn’t much of a surprise that Castiel’s irritable mood stayed with him through the rest of the week. When he got to Dean’s office on their designated night, he felt wound up tighter than a spring. The door slammed a bit behind him, and he kicked off his shoes a little harder than normal in the foyer. “I’m here,” he grumbled, announcing his presence.

“I can see this,” Dean said, emerging from the kitchen, carrying a steaming mug. “I think half the neighborhood knows you’re here.”

Castiel shrugged, loosening his tie because, instead of going home and changing clothes, he had stayed late at work and then driven straight to his appointment. He didn’t even look at Dean as he turned to his right and walked into the living room to crash down on the sofa.

“Alright,” Dean said, sitting opposite him. “Sit here and count backwards from one hundred. I’m going to grab this jar of marbles from my office, and for every—”

Castiel waved a hand in front of his face, almost in surrender. “Dean, I know you’re a therapist, and this is what you do, but…” he took a deep breath, before continuing, “Can we just talk? No games, no conditions?”

The other man paused, waiting a moment before nodding. He put his drink down on a nearby end table, and Castiel could see the edge of a tattoo poking out of his sleeve. Dean sat forward on the edge of his seat and asked gently, “What’s up?”

Castiel sat forward slightly, resting his elbows on both his knees before cradling his head in his hands. “It’s… it’s Tessa.”

“Okay. Did you two get into an argument?”

Castiel sighed heavily. “You could say that.”

Dean said nothing, just waited for Castiel to continue.

“She’s angry that _I’m_ angry at her for touching me without my consent. While I was _sleeping_. We’ve barely spoken in three days.”

“Shit,” Dean mumbled. He looked down for a moment, before looking back up. “Did she try to apologize? Or understand why you were upset?”

“I think _she_ thought it was an apology. I sincerely doubt she understands why it bothered me so much.”

“Was she attempting to get you aroused? Or just… exploring because you haven’t let her near that area since your surgery?”

Castiel scratched his head. “I really… I don’t know. I didn’t exactly stick around to ask.”

“Well, there was no excuse for any of her actions. Even when a couple is married, consent is an ongoing issue.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “The basis for all relationships is trust — and from what you’ve told me she continues to break that trust with her actions.” He paused for a moment, scratching at his hair. “But I’m not saying any of this in an effort to cause more problems in your marriage. It’s my job to help you find peace and happiness, in yourself. I do think my earlier recommendation of spending time with a marriage counselor is still advisable. I think you would both benefit from talking with a third party — someone objective.”

“I just wish that I could put everything with Tessa on pause, while I work through things. She’s expecting too much too fast.”

“Then tell her that. Tell her you need a few weeks while you work through this. Tell her you want to see a marriage therapist while you take some time apart.” Dean stopped, a frown crossing his face as he ducked his gaze. “Shit, I’m sorry. You wanted me to talk like a friend instead of a therapist. I probably shouldn’t have told you that on a professional level.”

“It’s okay, Dean. I know we’re not friends.”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” Dean looked back up. “I mean… I feel like a friendship is beginning to develop here. And that advice is exactly what I would tell one of my friends in your position. You’ve gotta focus on _you_ right now.”

“Thank you, Dean. I feel as though you’re my friend as well, and I don’t exactly have many of those. Certainly none of whom I can share things like _this_ with.”

“Let me ask you something, Castiel… where would you like our therapy to progress to next?”

“Well, this is rather embarrassing to admit, but I liked the touching.” The room suddenly felt quite warm, but he didn’t look away from Dean.

Dean nodded, an encouraging smile on his face. “We can do that. I have to tell you though, I like to see progression and moving forward with each session. So I’m alright with including some touch therapy into today’s session, but what do you think you’d be comfortable with, going forward?”

“Well,” Cas said, examining his fingernails thoroughly, “I read that booklet you gave me.”

“And? What are your thoughts? You know, a lot of men find it easier to achieve an erection with prostate stimulation. Have you… have you had an erection since your surgery?”

“I… can’t say that I have. But I also haven’t exactly been paying much attention to the area, beyond what’s been absolutely necessary.”

“Well, here’s the thing — you’re vulnerable right now. You had this negative experience with your wife, and I don’t want to make that worse. So if we continue down this path, I want your explicit consent for every moment that happens, understood?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course. But that’s the thing, Dean — because I know you’re going to ask my consent, I’m not worried. I feel safe with you.”

Dean smiled, pushing up off his chair. “Alright then. Where would you feel most comfortable? Here, again? Or in the spare bedroom with an actual bed?”

Castiel considered his options. Being able to stretch out on a bed would be nice, but something about being in a bedroom with another person was inherently _romantic_. Which this, intimate though it may have been, was not. “Uh, here is fine.”

“Alright.” Dean pushed aside the coffee table before moving to the end of the hall. “Go ahead and get undressed, I’m going to grab the mattress topper off the bed — make it a little more comfortable, at least.”

Castiel said nothing while Dean left the room. He unbuttoned his shirt, folded it, and lay it beside him. Standing up to take off his pants, he folded those too. His eyes raised back up when he heard Dean entering the room again, carrying a large white piece of soft foam. Castiel reached down, running his thumbs under the waistband of his boxer-briefs. His nerves were suddenly starting to get the best of him. “Shouldn’t we lay down a towel or something? In case of, you know… mess?”

Dean’s eyebrow arched and the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you planning on making a mess?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, but you _are_ planning on sticking a finger up my ass—”

“If you consent,” Dean interjected, the smile soft on his face.

A weird sensation hit Castiel at the sight of that easy-going smile. He ducked his head and blushed, hiding the fact as he ditched his shorts and shuffled forward to the makeshift bed Dean was creating.

After Dean laid the foam on a good spot on the floor, he walked to the hallway, opened a closet door, and brought back a clean fitted sheet that he tucked around the corners of the thing. He pulled a couple of nearby cushions from the couch and chair and placed them at one end. He also reached into a nearby drawer on an end table and produced a decent-sized bottle of lube.

Castiel sat down on the foam and a sudden thought occurred to him. He looked up at Dean in surprise. “Do you tell people about this? Like… do your girlfriends know that you know how to get a guy off by giving prostate massages?”

“Well, that might be kind of awkward seeing as how I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was twelve.” It was the first time Dean had ever laughed nervously in front of Castiel. “I’m gay, Cas. I thought you knew.”

_Shit._ His brow creased as he stared at his therapist in a new light. He supposed it did make sense that Dean would be gay. However, Castiel had spent most of his life being conditioned to expect that gay men were obvious by their actions and traits. Dean was anything but those stereotypes. “You are?” he finally managed to croak out.

“Yup.” Dean sat down on the easy chair again, but sat perched on the edge, angled towards Castiel. “Look, if that makes you uncomfortable, I can respect that, but I should point out that I’ve been gay this entire time. I haven’t changed.”

“I know,” he whispered with a nod. “I just… I guess I haven’t met many gay men. Well, that I know of,” he corrected. “I honestly wasn’t expecting that.”

“You know that anything we do here today won’t have any bearing on your orientation, right?”

“Yeah.” He shook off the feelings that were trying to poke and prod their way into his mind. “On my back or stomach?”

Dean moved to sit on the foam next to him. “You’re okay to keep going?”

Castiel nodded, and without waiting for Dean to answer, laid down on his back with a pillow behind his head. After a moment of thought, he grabbed another pillow and wedged it beneath his hips. “I think I’d feel comfortable being able to see.”

Dean edged up to sit on his knees. “Do you need anything before we start? Glass of water? Want me to turn the fire on?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You let me know if you do need anything, though, okay?”

“Of course, Dean, I will.”

Dean moved onto the carpet, settling himself beside Castiel’s chest. “I’m going to start with touching you, pretty much like I did last time. Is that okay?”

With a nod of his head, Castiel took a deep breath to relax, and waited for the feeling of Dean’s hands on his skin. When the touch began, easing slowly up Castiel’s left arm, he couldn’t help but muse, “I had a dream about this. A recurring dream.”

“You did?” Dean asked, his hands moving up to Castiel’s shoulder. 

“I did.” He sighed. “I just find it _really_ soothing.”

“Good,” Dean replied. “I’m glad.” He let his hands drag from the top of Castiel’s left shoulder across his collarbone, slowly. When he reached Castiel’s other shoulder, he began mirroring his touches down Cas’ right arm.

If Dean was curious about Castiel’s dream, he didn’t show it.

“Are all of your patients male?” Cas couldn’t help but ask.

“Generally speaking, yes.” When his hands reached Cas’ right hand, he spent some time there, gently massaging each finger. He moved his hands then, one at a time, to Castiel’s chest, palms flat against his clavicle. His skin felt more calloused than it had the last time — perhaps he’d found himself a project to work on that involved his hands. Or maybe it was just Castiel’s imagination.

As his hands moved lower, dragging slowly along Castiel’s skin, the rough touch of Dean’s palms on Castiel’s nipples sent a shockwave of pleasure down his spine. He gasped, raising up against the touch as his cock gave an interested twitch and his eyes slipped closed.

Dean stilled his touch. “You alright?”

He nibbled a bit on his bottom lip. “That felt… really good.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Are we okay to keep going?”

Castiel wanted desperately to ask Dean to tweak his nipple again. To lean down and brush a wet tongue over one and watch it react. But a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Dean was his _therapist_ and that he probably had a long list of other patients that he touched with the same degree of attention.

Castiel _wasn’t_ special. 

Any hint of desire or pleasurable reaction suddenly fled, and Castiel felt a weight settling on his shoulders. He kept his eyes closed, his voice neutral, and replied, “Yeah.”

Dean worked his way down one of Castiel’s legs, leaning over Cas’ body, and moving back to his knee before he spoke again. “Have you ever experimented with anal penetration on yourself, Cas?”

The words caused his stomach to roll, and in the blink of an eye Castiel pushed Dean away and hopped to his feet. “I need a minute,” he proclaimed, before successfully barricading himself in the bathroom.

Predictably, Dean could be heard on the other side of the door almost immediately.

“Cas?” he said, after a soft knock on the door. “What do you need right now?”

Castiel blinked, looking up at himself in the mirror. _What do I need?_ A pause, and then he was turning back to the door. He pulled it open in a rush, catching Dean off-guard. He didn’t think, didn’t worry. Didn’t… _anything._

Except for shove Dean hard against the wall behind him and capture the younger man’s lips in a searing kiss.

Whether Dean reacted by instinct or intent, Castiel couldn’t tell. All he knew was that, for at least a fraction of a split second, Dean’s lips yielded to his. But then he was pulling back, his hands like vices on Castiel’s arms, keeping him at a safe distance.

It was that distance that sent a current of shame crashing through Castiel. He felt his face flush red, and he cast his gaze on the floor. They had spoke so freely about consent issues and then he just… “Shit, Dean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Cas, it’s okay. You aren’t the first, okay? I’m not angry.” A gentle finger came to Castiel’s chin, tilting his face upward to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m flattered, I really am. But this isn’t what you’re here for. And besides, there’s—”

“Tessa,” Castiel supplied. 

“I know you two have been having problems — all the more reason to avoid any of…” Dean waved a hand at the space between them, “... this.” 

Castiel nodded, and a moment too late realized that he was still naked. The shame and embarrassment were almost crippling, and he pulled away from Dean to go back into the living room for his clothes. “I think I’m done for tonight,” he mumbled under his breath, already pulling his underwear back on.

“Cas!” Dean called, following after him. “We can just talk, if you want—” 

“No, I’m not sure that I do.” He shook his head and pulled his shirt on. “I’ve had a miserable week, topped off by that moment, and I think I’m going to take your advice and check myself into a motel for a few days.” He was too frustrated to even bother tying his shoes, so he left the strings loose as he walked to the door.

Dean walked after him again, but stayed at the door. “Hey, if I did anything to make you uncomfortable, you can tell me okay? I promise I can take it.” He flashed that charismatic grin again, obviously trying to diffuse the situation.

It was just too much. All of it was just too much. Castiel opened the door and whispered a soft, “Goodbye, Dean,” as he left.


	6. Chapter 6

\--- **Dean** \---

He heard a growl from across the table and Dean knew that his thoughts were distracting him. He glanced up at his dinner partner and gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind tonight.”

It was a testament to how well Benny knew him, that the other man gave a simple nod of understanding instead of complaining. To be fair though, dinner before their usual sex night had been Benny’s idea, not Dean’s.

Dean probably could have faked concentration long enough to make it through sex.

Maybe.

Possibly.

But apparently not through dinner.

“Okay, chief, what’s goin’ on? What has that pretty noggin’ of yours spinnin’ circles so fast?”

“It’s just work stuff,” Dean answered dismissively. He wound some pasta onto his fork but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “So I couldn’t talk about it anyway, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

Benny nodded. “You know, we could get this boxed up, and—”

“At what point should I worry about a patient self-harming themselves?” Dean cut in, his voice low so that neighboring tables couldn’t hear. A tiny voice in the back of his head kept telling him that it wasn’t right to discuss confidential information — but a larger part kept making the argument that he wasn’t actually disclosing anything sensitive. “He had a bad week last week and then didn’t show up today and… _fuck_ I’m worried.”

Benny reached a warm hand across the table and settled it on Dean’s forearm. “Of course you are. I take it you’ve tried calling?”

“I called when it was obvious that he wasn’t going to show up for his appointment.” The look of shame and rejection on Castiel’s face was permanently glued in his mind, and the worry was eating him up. “Went straight to voicemail.”

“Well, does he have an emergency contact? You have access to those sorts of things, don’t you?”

“Tried that. She growled out something about me making him think it was okay to leave her and stay at a hotel, and then hung up on me.”

“Wait. Leave her? Who exactly is this emergency contact?”

“His wife.”

“Well, shit.” Benny leaned back in his chair, and scratched at the short hair on his head. “That’s… unusual, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Dean shook his head. “I’ve dealt with a few married couples in the past.” He eyed his dinner forlornly and knew that nothing would convince his appetite to show back up. “Fuck. I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you really concerned that he might hurt himself?”

“I am.” He nodded and reached out to gain their waiter’s attention, asking for a box for his meal and the check. Once he had, he turned back to his date. “Listen, Benny, I’m really sorry but I’m not going to be much good for anything tonight. I think I’m going to head home and keep calling. Maybe call some local motels.”

“Of course, sugar.” They stood, and Benny pulled him into a tight hug. The contact was not unwelcome. “Shit, I don’t even know the guy and I’m worried. You let me know once it’s all worked out, you hear?”

“Yeah.”

\---

Castiel had tried to time it so that he would return to their house while Tessa was at work. Since her schedule changed every couple of weeks, however, his best guess was as good as any. And this time, he was wrong.

Tessa came rushing to him the second he stepped in the door.

“Cas!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a couple of steps. “I was worried sick! I’m so glad you’re home.”

The sentiment was appreciated, but dampened by all of the self-evaluation he had done over the last few days. He hugged her back, gently, before pulling away. “Thanks. I just…” he motioned to his bag, “wanna get this stuff unloaded and change for bed.”

“Castiel!” She stopped him, looking at him like he’d just grown an extra head. “You take off for _a week_ with just one shitty text message for an explanation which, I’m sorry but _’I need some time to think’_ is not a very good one!”

“And now I’m not allowed to change my clothes until you read me the riot act?” He shook his head, frustration boiling. “It’s been a long week, Tessa. If you were that fucking worried, you could have called.”

“Well you didn’t exactly make me think you’d pick up, after that damn text.”

His bag dropped to the floor and he spun to glare at her, pointing an accusing finger. “This! This is the problem. If you were _really_ fucking worried about my well-being, you would have sent me multiple reply texts and called to leave messages even if I didn’t pick up. And what did you do? You made the excuse to yourself that I obviously wouldn’t answer so what was the fucking point.” 

“What the hell do you want from me, Cas? First you don’t want me close to you, and now I’m not fucking close enough! I just can’t do anything right, can I?”

“Apparently not,” he offered. He picked his bag back up and headed for the master bedroom. He wasn’t afraid to admit to the fact that he was probably a terrible husband — but it pissed him off when Tessa wouldn’t also admit that she was an equally bad wife.

Cas didn’t couldn’t have said what he was expecting when he opened his bedroom door. Maybe the laundry hadn’t gotten done as much in his absence. What he certainly wasn’t expecting to see was Tessa’s suitcase and carry-on bag sitting neatly by the foot of the bed. When he dropped his own bag and looked behind himself, Tessa was standing in the doorway.

“Tess,” he began slowly, “what is this?”

“I got a job offer in Tulsa.” She shrugged her shoulders, arms crossing over her chest. “Elliott moved there two months ago and gave me a recommendation.” She took another step forward, but didn’t reach for him like she usually did. “You know, Cas — I tried. I tried really fucking hard. I wanted a family. I wanted us to be happy. But you just… didn’t fucking care. To be frank, your dick isn’t the only thing limp about you, these days.”

“Get out.”

Tessa rolled her eyes dramatically as she picked up her bags. “The rest of my stuff is boxed up in the garage. Movers are picking it up Thursday.”

He didn’t say anything as she brushed past him. He didn’t follow her to the door, didn’t try to stop her. What was the point? She’d already given up on them.

\---

As far as plans go — spending three days in a somewhat drunken stupor and then deciding to find a _gay bar_ of all things… probably wasn’t the best idea.

But Castiel was creating a reputation for following through on bad ideas. He ordered another whiskey and coke and continued to contemplate how fucked up his life currently was. On top of all her other surprises, Tessa had also left a nice stack of papers and the card for her divorce attorney. There would be no ‘marriage counseling’ in their future. She had made up her mind and ran with it.

When the bartender put Cas’ drink in front of him. He’d lost count, but he was remarkably good at not acting drunk when he was, and hadn’t been cut off yet. When he tried to push a few wadded bills across the bar however, the bartender wouldn’t accept them. “It’s been paid for,” the man said, leaning close to be heard above the music. “Over there.” He pointed behind Castiel and winked.

He waited a moment, before slowly turning around. A few feet away, sitting at a table by himself, a younger man with dark hair in a nicely pressed suit, raised his glass in a salute. Castiel forced a half-drunk smile and small wave, before turning back to his drink. 

It only took a couple of minutes for the other man to appear by his side, leaning casually against the bar and motioning to the drink. “You looked like you needed that,” the stranger mused. When Castiel only offered a nod in reply, the guy held out his hand. “Henry.”

“Castiel,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. The handshake was firm, but not aggressive. What Castiel noticed the most, however, was how much he’d missed _touch_. It seemed to him, in his less-than-clear state of mind, to be a strange thing for him to crave, when he’d never missed its absence much before. Whatever his motivations may have been, Castiel found himself saying an easy, “Yes,” when Henry asked if he’d like to get out of there.

Things got a bit hazy after that. One minute they were in the bar, the next they were settling into a newer Lexus sedan. They drove for a few minutes with Henry’s hand resting on Castiel’s knee, and if his life had depended on it, Castiel couldn’t have said where they were going. He barely noticed when the car parked in a deserted parking lot, but he was aware enough to realize that Henry was leaning over the center console to kiss him.

He kissed back, sloppy and drunk but enjoyable. It was all… _enjoyable._ Until the hand on his knee started moving up. 

He broke the kiss rather more abruptly than he’d intended.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked.

The panic hit quickly and he shook his head, shoving Henry’s touch away. “I can’t,” he managed, words broken from the anxious tone of his voice.

“Oh,” Henry said, leaning back. “It’s okay.” He went to pat Castiel’s knee, but apparently thought better of it, and settled his hand on the steering wheel instead. “Why don’t I just drive you home?”

“Please,” he whispered, wringing his hands together. When Henry asked for his address, Castiel gave him the only address he could remember. 

Which is how they wound up at Dean’s house.

When Castiel stumbled out of the car, it took him half a dozen steps to realise Henry was helping him down the path to the front door. Which vaguely registered as a _bad idea_ although, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why that was. He just mumbled something resembling, “You’re very helpful.”

At the front door, Castiel leaned his head against the nearby exterior wall of Dean’s house and giggled as he pushed the doorbell. Hearing the resonating noise seemed like the best thing ever — so he rang the doorbell four more times before Henry reached for his wrist and made him stop. 

Which is why when Dean opened the door, it was to the sight of Castiel giggling at Henry, his wrist in Henry’s hand.

Henry looked up and immediately frowned. “Hey. So… Castiel says he lives here?”

“S’no…” Castiel giggled, pushing Henry’s hand away and trying to straighten. He pointed at Dean and explained to Henry, “He’s my… sex.” He nodded, unaware of the missing word in his explanation.

“I’m really sorry,” Henry said, clearly misunderstanding the meaning of Castiel’s words. “I had no idea he had a boyfriend — nothing happened. We just made out a bit. I honestly had no idea he was this drunk.”

Castiel’s giggles grew in volume as he looked to Dean. “He thinks we’re boyfriends.” He shook his head at Henry. “No. ‘S not like that. He’s just… _flattered._ Is all.”

“Shit,” Henry said. “Look, this is just the address he gave me — I can take him somewhere else, if you know where he lives…”

Dean sighed deep and heavy, and ran a hand through his hair. “No, it’s alright. He can sleep it off here. Thanks for helping him out. He’s, uh… been going through some stuff.”

“Yup.” Castiel nodded. A strange look suddenly crossed his face and he turned to his right to where a large bush sat just off the porch and threw up over the railing. After a moment, he wiped his lips and turned back to the other two men. “Excuse me. But yeah. Stuff. Shit. Divorce. All the same.”

“Alright, well. If you’ve got him…” Henry turned to Dean with a questioning look, and the other man gave an affirmative nod. “Then I think I’m going to call it a night. It was good, um, meeting you, Castiel.” 

“Thanks. It was…” He frowned. “ _Flattering._ ”

“Alright, sassypants,” Dean said, laying a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder and steering him towards the open door. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Puked on your plant,” he mumbled, letting Dean lead him into the house.

“I noticed.”

“You deserved it.”

“Maybe so.” 

Castiel’s feet kept moving in whatever direction Dean pointed him — navigation being too difficult of a task but locomotion apparently not so. So when Dean steered him towards the couch, he didn’t sit down, so much as crash landed.

“Why don’t I go get you some water?”

“Mmm.” Came his muffled reply. He turned his head on the pillow that he had landed on. His eyes were closed as he spoke his next words, “Went gay for you, ya know. I’m… terrible at it. Don’t want random touching. Jus’ want… _you._ ”

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cas,” Dean said, turning towards the kitchen.

“Tessa left me.”

“We’ll talk in the morning—”

“You lied. You said I wasn’t broken.” His words faded as his breathing evened and he finally passed out.


	7. Chapter 7

It was seven a.m. when Castiel finally came to. His head was pounding, his stomach spinning, and he didn’t have the faintest idea of where the fuck he was. It took a few minutes of blinking his eyes to get his vision to focus. He eased himself up and ignored the nausea as he looked around.

_Dean’s house._

_Shit._ He had the faint memory of lips on his own, but couldn’t pinpoint whose. 

One thing was for certain — despite the location, he knew that they couldn’t have been Dean’s lips. _Flattery_ didn’t run that deep.

Castiel could smell coffee and other breakfast smells coming from the kitchen. He knew logically that they should be mouth-watering, but he wasn’t sure what his stomach could handle at that moment. He could hear Dean moving — more like crashing, with all the noise he was making — around in the kitchen. He tried to calculate his chances of escaping the house unnoticed, but by the time his mind decided to cooperate, Dean was standing in front of him.

He took a deep breath and found the most exciting spot that a hardwood floor could have on it as he avoided Dean’s gaze like the plague. “I’m gonna head home,” he managed, voice rough with sleep.

“You don’t wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well, as I remember it, you owe me. That session you didn’t show up to—”

“I’ll pay for the missed session,” Castiel grumbled. Here his life was falling apart, and Dean was just concerned with the bottom line?

“No. I don’t want your money,” Dean said, crossing his arms. “You owe me your time.”

“Sorry, I’m all out of time to give.” He pushed himself to his feet, feeling worn out and ragged after sleeping in last night’s clothes. “I just want to go home and sleep for a year.”

“One coffee. Please.”

The words _’I can’t’_ were on the tip of his tongue. But the idea of coffee overrode them. “One coffee. No questions.”

“Fine.” 

Dean walked into the kitchen, and Castiel followed, slowly. He sat on one of the bar stools at the counter and fought the urge to lay his head against the cool surface. A moment later, a green ceramic mug of hot steaming coffee was being slid in front of him.

“There’s milk, and sugar, if you want it.”

“Black is fine, thanks.”

He sipped slowly at the hot liquid and enjoyed the slow burn down his throat. Even though he had told Dean not to ask questions, he couldn’t help but ask one of his own. “How did I… end up here?”

Dean took a seat across from Castiel, and held his own coffee between his hands. “You asked a, um, friend of yours to bring you here.”

Friend? He frowned. “I don’t have friends.”

“Well, you did last night.” Dean took a sip of his coffee. He also, apparently, took it black.

He finished off his coffee and slowly stood. ”Well, look… I’m sorry about… everything. Especially bothering you. I’m gonna head out now.”

As he turned, Dean reached out, grabbing Castiel’s arm gently. “Cas, I…”

“What?” Cas asked, looking down at where their skin touched.

He cleared his throat, releasing his grip. “Drink lots of water, okay?”

\--- **Dean** \---

The next day, Dean got an email from Castiel’s primary sex therapist. He worked with Louise Parks all the time, so he respected her opinion on a number of different matters. On more than a few occasions, he would call her to seek advice on a patient.

But he wholeheartedly disagreed with her email.

_Dean,_

_I’ve decided to send Mr. Novak to a female surrogate. I’ve recommended Jessica to him. Hopefully this will help to continue moving his therapy forward._

_Cheers,_

_Louise_

He was so mad at the woman, that he didn’t stop to call. Instead, he jumped into his car, drove the ten minutes to her clinic, and barreled through the front door like he owned the place. “I need to see Louise,” he growled at the tiny receptionist that was staring at him with frightened gray eyes.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s still in her office, right?” He pointed at the closed door just down the hall from the reception desk. 

“Y-yes, but—”

“Is she with anyone?”

“N-no, I mean, I have to—”

“Thanks,” he said, and opened Louise’s door without so much as knocking.

The older woman looked up from her paperwork in surprise. “Dean! This is a shock. I just sent you an email correspondence a few minutes ago…”

“Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh.” Surprise gave way to confusion. “I apologize for taking a patient away, but don’t worry, I have another lined up to send you next week.”

“I’m not worried about my work load, Louise. I’m worried about Castiel. The guy doesn’t build trust easily. This is just going to set him back.”

Louise shook her head, “Dean… Mr. Novak _asked_ for this. He was in my office first thing this morning asking to be pointed in the direction of a different surrogate.”

Dean frowned, and scuffed a spot on the carpet with his boot. “Did he say why?”

“He didn’t go into details, no. He said that some moments had arisen to make things uncomfortable and he felt like his successful treatment would only happen with a new therapist.”

“I see.”

“Dean, if anything inappropriate happened, I need to know about it.”

“Nothing that the clinic could be held liable for. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

His shoulders slumped as he walked back out of the clinic in defeat. This had happened before, and he had never responded so emotionally. He couldn’t figure out why the hell he was so attached to Castiel Novak. Why he was so worried about the man’s well-being. 

Climbing in his car, he decided that _home_ wasn’t where he wanted to be. He drove around town for thirty aimless minutes, until he found himself pulling into _Strutt Your Mutt_ — the doggy daycare and boarding kennels that Sam and Charlie owned. He locked his car and tucked his keys in his pocket before heading inside. Between seeing Charlie and being pounced on by a bunch of dogs — it was a sure fire way of feeling better.

Hopefully.

“Dean!” Charlie beamed at him the moment he walked inside, the door chime announcing his presence.

“Hey Charlie.” He moved around the counter and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her long red hair. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too — and woah that’s a tight hug for a random midday drop in.” She pulled back, and looked him square in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like shit, Charlie.” He reached up to run a ragged hand through his hair. “And I don’t fucking know why.”

“Well, you’re in luck.”

“I am?”

“I’m fuckin’ swamped -- Brittany called in sick on me right before her shift started and I absolutely do not have time to walk our current lodgers. Think spending a half hour with some adorable dogs would help?”

A smile broke out on his face. “It’s almost guaranteed to help. Thanks, kid.” He moved over to the clipboard hanging on the wall and checked on which dogs had been waiting the longest for some play time. Once he had the info, he pushed through the doors to the kennel area and grabbed a handful of leashes.

Charlie was right about one thing — even with getting his feet tangled up more times than he could count — spending time with the dogs did help to clear his head. It did not, however, take only half an hour. Nearly an hour later, Dean was wrangling four dogs back into the kennel when he heard his brother arrive through the front door.

He brushed the dirt from his jeans and washed his hands at the bathing station, before going back into the front area of the shop. He smiled at the sight of Sam leaning down to kiss Charlie. They were ridiculously cute together. Hell… they always had been. “Hey Sammy,” he called, once his brother came up for air.

“Dean!” A grin spread across Sam’s face. “Charlie didn’t tell me you were here.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly give her a chance now, did you?” he teased. 

His brother blushed, looking back to his longtime girlfriend with a loving smile. “I guess not.”

“Okay, that’s enough. You’re going to make me sick over here.” He lightly punched Sam’s arm and looked to Charlie. “Okay. I walked your dogs for you and got them all worn down and ready for dinner. Can I borrow this strapping young man for a beer and a burger?”

“Hmm…” she tapped her chin thoughtfully with her finger, looking at Sam carefully. “I _suppose_ so. Take it easy on the illegal gambling and black market dealing though, okay?”

“You know we only gamble enough to keep the business afloat and the college classes paid for.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Charlie.” He smacked Sam once more as he walked past him. “Say your goodbyes, I need my brother tonight.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing as he followed his brother out the door.

They took Dean’s car and the ride over to his second favorite bar — the one closer to Sam’s house — was short and quiet. In fact, it took two beers and an order of onion rings for him to finally admit what he was thinking. “You know how I’m terrible at relationships?”

Sam shoved another onion ring in his mouth and wiped his hands on a napkin. “A: I disagree. And B: That’s never really bothered you before.”

“You can’t disagree with a _fact_ , Sam.”

“And I don’t think it’s a fact, but I’ll humor you. Yes, you’re terrible at relationships. What’s his name this time?”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t say. He’s a client.” At the immediate raise of Sam’s eyebrows, Dean waved off his concern. “We didn’t _do_ anything. He just… I don’t know. He’s married, and recovering from an illness, and came to me for help with accepting intimacy from his wife. Then his marriage went to pot and he kissed me. I told him… I told him I was _flattered_ but that wasn’t what we were there for.” As he repeated the words, he realized how much they must have hurt Castiel’s already fragile self-esteem. “He showed up a few nights ago, drunk off his ass and hanging off some guy that said they met in a bar and all they did was make out. Then today I found out he asked to see another therapist.”

“Is the guy straight?”

“He identifies as straight, yes. Or… at least he did before he showed up at my house with a guy.” He shook his head and reached for another onion ring. “In his drunken haze, he told me that he went gay for me. And that his wife left him.”

“Do you know the new surrogate he’s going to be working with?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you trust them to take care of him?”

“That dopey blonde bitch fresh out of college?” Dean shook his head. “No.”

“Then why don’t you raise your concerns in a professional context?”

“Because he _asked_ for that.” He frowned. “He wants to see a woman. He wants to see _anyone_ other than me.”

“Dean. Are you more concerned for this guy’s well-being, or do you just really want to see him again?”

Dean looked down at his hands. “I have no idea. The second one, I think.”

“Then you should probably go talk to him.”

“I can’t…” Dean rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. “Is that really the most philosophical thing you can think to say? I need to _see_ him? You do realize that every major factor is against that idea, right? He’s straight, I’m gay. He’s married, my longest relationship was two weeks. He’s my _patient._ ”

Sam raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “Dean… I was born a woman. I’ve spent _years_ fighting to be the person that I knew I really was on the inside. I denied every single person that told me it wasn’t worth it. The odds were _literally_ stacked against me… and I still pursued it. Because it was the _right_ thing to do.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about your identity versus my… I don’t even know what to call it. A crush? Fuck, I didn’t even know I could still get those.”

“Maybe you need to start considering the fact that you might not follow the typical path. Just like I didn’t. I mean… who’s to say this guy isn’t demisexual? What if he needs to feel a connection to find arousal and attraction? Maybe you provided that connection.”

“Shit. You know, he could be. Lots of people don’t even know what those terms are.”

“Do you think his new therapist does?”

He thought of Jessica, and the way she had rubbed him the wrong way almost immediately when he met her. “I doubt it.”

“Then maybe it would benefit the both of you if you reached out to him.”

Dean sighed, ducking his gaze in embarrassment. “I told him I was _flattered_ , Sam. Flattered. In reality… I had never felt so deeply from one tiny kiss.”

“Dean, do I need to call him for you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll call him when I get home.”

\---

Castiel couldn’t help but try again — even if he went with a different tactic. He sat at a small table in a bar downtown and sipped _slowly_ on a beer. He wasn’t looking to get drunk again. Who knew where his drunken mind would lead him to next, if he did.

No, he was there because a guy he worked with had suggested that this particular bar was good for picking up ‘chicks.’

Castiel scanned the people sitting around the bar, a part of his mind hoping that he would see a familiar face, _any_ familiar face. He was beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase, _’lost in a crowd’_.

He was beyond frustrated and annoyed at himself for even beginning to believe that showing up there was a good idea. He had never had a good sexual experience with a woman — why did he think that finding a stranger would make it better?

Aside from the fact that a stranger wouldn’t know his history. Wouldn’t know that he was broken. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” a sweet voice asked from his right. 

Castiel turned, eyes appraising the tall redhead standing beside him. “I, um…” he shook his head, “No. Did you need the extra chair?” He motioned to the other barstool at his table, before glancing around to see if the woman’s friends were waiting patiently for her. 

“I do.” Instead of taking the chair, though, she proceeded to sit down on it, smiling as she set her glass on his table. “I’m Josie.”

“H-hello, Josie,” Castiel said, extending his hand.

“What’s your name, darling?” she asked.

“Castiel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Castiel.” She winked at him and took a sip of her drink. “So, are we drinking alone or checking out the field?”

“I’m…” he sighed, ducking his gaze. “Drinking off a few bad memories.”

“I’ll raise my glass to that,” Josie lifted her glass in a toast to his words. 

He tapped his own glass against hers and tried to remain relaxed as he took another long sip of beer. He knew that her expectant gaze meant she expected him to come up with some kind of conversation starter, but anything that he could think of in his mind sounded too cliché and cheesy. Cas settled on remaining quiet and focusing on his drink, hoping it didn’t come off as disinterest. 

“Castiel,” she finally said, leaning in close to be heard above the noise. “You’re very cute, and seem like a decent person. Am I wasting my time? Would you like me to leave you alone?”

“No,” he shook his head quickly. “I just... you’re very pretty. I don’t know what to say. I thought about talking about the weather or asking if you come to this particular establishment often and it all seemed so… cliché.”

She laughed, and it was deep and genuine and so unlike Tessa had ever been. “Well, I was right. You are _very_ cute.” She licked her lips briefly and her eyes were sparkling when she looked at him. “But we don’t have to talk at all.”

“We… don’t?” He drank more of his beer, suddenly wishing he hadn’t sworn to only drink one.

“Not at all. Would you like me to show you?”

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding his head. That was what he had came for, he wasn’t going to back out and be a wimp.

Josie threw back the rest of her drink, stood, and held out her hand. Castiel took it, and let her lead him around the tightly packed tables in the dim bar.

\---

Josie had a _sex dungeon._

He stared at the room and felt his legs quivering, ready to give out. 

What were the fucking odds? The one woman he meets in a bar was also a dominatrix. He felt her pressing up behind him again, whiskey breath whispering in his ear. 

“I knew it as soon as I spotted you. You’re going to be such a good pet. Are you going to let me fuck that tight ass, babydoll?”

Any words he might have said died in his throat, but he felt his head nod seemingly of its own accord.

“Atta boy.” At some point she had gone from wearing the tank top and short skirt that she had on at the bar — to a full-fledged leather bustier and black lace panties. 

He should find it hot, but his dick had retreated at the first sign of whips hanging on the wall. 

Suddenly she was moving around his body, her hands sliding down to his belt and slowly pulling it open. “I can’t wait to see this pretty cock.” She winked. “I bet it’s smaller than the one I’m going to fuck you with. Gonna tie you up and make you come on my big dick.”

And _that_ was about all he could handle. Castiel stumbled away from her touch in a rush, fumbling to get his pants buckled again as he backed up towards the stairs. He was _really_ happy that he had chose to drive back to Josie’s house. “Okay. I’m gonna… go now.” 

He ran. Like a coward. Straight up the stairs and out the front door of Josie’s large house. His hands were shaking as he tried to straighten the car keys long enough to unlock the door, but as soon as he managed, he was in the car and speeding out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.

He tallied up his recent failures in his head. He hadn’t been able to fuck his wife, or Henry, or now Josie. If he didn’t want men or women, what did he want? He was fairly certain he didn’t want to fuck his car.

Had Tessa been right? 

Was he really… broken?


	8. Chapter 8

\--- **Session Six** \---

All Castiel had to do was see his newly assigned surrogate in person, and he knew that it wasn’t going to be a beneficial relationship. The young blonde was pretty, yes, and more than likely had a hidden intelligence that her good looks masked.

But she was also the spitting image of every girl in high school that had tortured him. Any time he had even thought about asking a girl out as an awkward teenager, a group of popular girls had spread another rumor about how terrible he was.

She was understanding, of course, which somehow only made it worse. They’d met at a coffee shop, one of those trendy ones where the baristas are more trained in their field than most of the designers Castiel worked with. He gulped down the last of his eight dollar latté while it was still hot enough to burn his mouth and excused himself.

Despite the fact that Tessa was gone, Castiel wasn’t ready to throw in the towel on his recovery. His attempts at sex had shown that if this weight was ever going to be lifted off of his shoulders, he needed to keep trying. 

So he called Louise the next day and had her send his file back to Dean. The following Monday, he showed up on Dean’s front porch with his shoulders squared and his mind ready to put aside his feelings and focus on getting better. 

“I need to apologise for being an asshole,” Castiel said, once they were sitting on Dean’s couch, a glass of iced tea in his hands. “I think the fact that you could awaken new feelings in me — shit, that I hadn’t felt in _years_ , if ever — was scary and threw me off my game. I’m here now, though, and I’m ready to make this therapy work.” He frowned, eyes falling to his glass. “Despite the fact that Tessa has left.”

“Cas, you were — and still are — recovering from a life-threatening illness. And now you’re dealing with Tessa leaving — you’re allowed to freak out.” He reached across the space between them and gave Castiel’s knee a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I had to throw out that plant, though.”

His face dropped. “What plant?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Ah, well. I guess that’s just more blackmail material for me, then.” Dean leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms and lacing his fingers together behind his head.

“You’re my therapist. You’re not allowed to blackmail me.”

“Oh. Damn,” he laughed. “You got me there.”

Castiel shook his head and bit back the surge of attraction. He started an internal mantra about how Dean was his _therapist._ “So, can we start today with where we left off?”

“We could. But, before we do, is there anything about why you did what you did that night that you want to talk about?” Castiel raised an eyebrow in confusion, so Dean clarified, “When you showed up here, drunk off your ass, with a guy you’d picked up at a bar, and told me that you’d gone gay for me.”

He tried not to choke on his next sip of tea. _Fuck._ He didn’t like thinking about that night and how majorly he’d fucked up. “I think I’d like to just start fresh, Dean.”

“Almost. You know I need to bring up one more thing. It would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t.”

“Yeah.” Cas ducked his head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Cas — why do you think I stopped the kiss?”

“Because it was inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate because you were-slash-are married, and because it was my understanding that any such moves from my side would be unwelcome. Cas, I kiss my clients all the time. If they want it.”

Oh, he definitely _wanted_ it — but not as a client. Castiel shook his head. “I think we should avoid that for now.”

“Fair enough.” Dean picked up his glass, and took a sip of tea before continuing. “But that’s entirely up to you — you’re in charge here, okay?”

“Okay.” He finished off his drink before setting the glass aside and standing up. He had already kicked his shoes off at the door, so he walked towards the hallway in his socks. “I think it’s time that I avoid my fear and confront the bedroom. I believe you promised me more touches?”

“You know, I believe I did.”

\--- **Session Seven** \---

Forget two-for-one margaritas during Happy Hour — touch therapy was officially Castiel’s new favorite thing.

Letting Dean run his hands over Castiel’s naked body was like the drug he never knew he needed. It calmed him down like nothing else ever had, and — even more notably — he didn’t feel anxious about having Dean in his personal space.

This particular late afternoon Castiel’s bones already felt like jelly just from having Dean lay his hands all over the smooth planes of Castiel’s naked body. He was stretched out on the crisp white cotton sheets of the bed in the spare room, and he felt more than ready when Dean pulled open the bedside table drawer to place a bottle of lube on top of it. 

“So, just foreplay for sex,” Dean began, “this will work better and be a hell of a lot more comfortable for you if we get you… ‘ _warmed up_.’”

“But I don’t know if I can — I haven’t been able to—”

Dean held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter if you get an erection. Think of this like a massage — do I have your consent to touch your penis and testicles?”

“Yes.” It was an easy ‘yes,’ one given with no hesitation or second thought.

“That means I’ll be touching your prosthetic one, are you okay with that?”

“I am,” Cas said. “I’ve been getting used to it.”

Dean said nothing but his face looked somehow… proud. His hands were still warm from dancing elsewhere on Castiel’s body when he reached down between Cas’ legs. Dean cupped his balls with one hand, his other hand slowly massaging the base of his penis.

The other man had been right — just like with the touching, the feel of Dean’s hand brushing along his cock was less panic-inducing and more so _relaxing_. Cas settled back against the bed and enjoyed every touch, even as Dean’s hands touched his flaccid dick and the sensitive skin behind his balls.

Dean talked him through every step of what he was doing, but the actual meaning behind the other man’s words was lost in a haze of soft skin touching him and whiskey rough words like a melody. At the first brush of a finger around the edge of his puckered hole, he actually _moaned._

He spread his legs a little wider and angled his hips up towards Dean’s hand. Most of Dean’s words were being tuned out, but when the younger man leaned in to Cas’ field of vision his eyes snapped to attention. 

“I’m going to go really slow, but you gotta talk to me, okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”

Castiel nodded as best he could, given his current position. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m doing okay. Please… more?”

“You got it.” Dean withdrew his hand to squeeze a generous amount of lube onto it, and he let it warm up a few long moments before returning his touch to Cas’ skin again. This time, after pressing the pad of his finger against the ring of muscle and circling it a few times, he breached it.

It was _different._ There was no better way of describing it. But it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. Throughout his medical treatments he had needed quite a few prostate exams — so he was used to doctors and nurses sticking probing fingers up _there._

But there again… Dean’s touch was different. Less medical, more personal. He wasn’t looking for odd growths or swelling — he was looking to please Castiel.

Castiel breathed through the burn and Dean kept his finger still while Castiel’s body adjusted.

“You still good?” Cas nodded again and Dean slid his other hand up and down Castiel’s side reassuringly. “You’re doing amazing,” he said, squeezing Castiel’s hip. 

“I’d be doing more amazing if you’d move your finger.”

“Okay, okay, _bossy_ ,” Dean teased at him. 

When Dean _did_ finally begin to move his finger, the burn was still there, but it was half-lessened and half-good.

Even though it was obvious Dean was taking things slow, Castiel still felt it to his very _core_ when the tip of Dean’s finger brushed over his prostate. “Shit,” he hissed, overwhelmed by the feelings spreading through his body — making a beeline for his cock.

Dean looked up from his job at Cas’ face. “Was that a good ‘shit’ or a bad one?”

“G-good.” He pressed back. “More.”

Dean responded by brushing his finger back and forth across Cas’ prostate, very slowly, and very lightly.

“ _Oh,_ ” was all Castiel could manage. He felt another twitch from his dick and, upon glancing down, was mildly surprised to see it getting hard. “Dean,” he said, not caring that the name came out more like a whine than actual speech, “can you… touch me?”

He glanced up to Dean’s face just in time to see a small shudder running over the other man. It was one of those blink-and-you-miss-it things, but Castiel brushed it off as just being a product of the situation. 

“Alright,” Dean replied, voice quiet and gentle as he moved his free hand up to wrap around the base of Castiel’s cock. At some point he had added lube to that hand as well, and the touch was slicked just right. “I’m going to move slow, so that this builds enough for you to truly embrace what’s happening, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Castiel was paying markedly less attention to Dean’s words and more and more to the hot feel of his hands and fingers — although the deep rumble of Dean’s voice was a welcome addition to the sparks building low in Castiel’s belly. He could feel himself continue to harden in Dean’s hands.

He shifted, raising his hands up to grab another pillow for behind his head so that he could see what Dean was doing a little better. When he had a better view, he was suddenly able to see the hard outline in the front of Dean’s worn out jeans. _Fuck._ He wanted to ask about his therapist’s erection, but didn’t have the nerve.

He didn’t have the strength to, either — not when Dean’s finger inside of him began alternating between side-to-side strokes and a steady, unmoving pressure. Coupled with Dean’s smooth and swift movements over his dick and Castiel was lost in a pool of sensation. His head fell back and he cried out, hips shifting up off the bed as he came long and hard against his own stomach. Dean worked him through it, finger a gentle but constant presence against his prostate as the strokes emptied every drop of come from Castiel’s pent-up system.

When it was finally too much… sensations on the edge of pain instead of pleasure, he managed to wave a hand towards Dean and gasp, “Stop. Please.”

Dean let go of Castiel’s softening dick and slowly withdrew his finger. The movement caused less of a burn this time, but he was left with a definite empty feeling. Although, his body felt so soft and boneless that it was easy to dismiss. 

What was less easy to dismiss, however, was the awkward way Dean was holding himself when he rose to his feet to pull some tissues out of a box on the dresser. He was hunched forward a little, and, once his side was to the bed, Castiel could distinctly see him pull at the thighs of his pants, like he was trying to separate the fabric from his body. When Dean turned back to Castiel to hand him the box of tissues, the dark spot on the front of his pants was impossible to miss, and unmistakeable in nature.

Dean had come in his pants.

\--- **Dean** \---

It was easier for Dean to ignore unwelcome and troubling thoughts about attractive people he _shouldn’t_ be attracted to with his tongue two inches inside Benny’s ass.

Benny was comfortable, familiar, and, unlike a certain blue-eyed individual, completely within bounds. So he made excuses to himself that it was completely okay that he called Benny only an hour after Castiel walked out of his office. After the incident — also known as the moment he lost complete control and came in his _pants_ while fighting off the desire to lick along Cas’ swollen hole — Dean had no other options. It was either call Benny or follow Castiel home like a lost puppy and demand to fuck the poor guy. 

He continued to stretch Benny open with his tongue. The other man wasn’t usually a fan of bottoming — they switched off every once in a while and though he didn’t _hate_ it, Benny liked to be in control. Dean had left him no choice. The phone call had consisted of little more than: _’If you’ll let me fuck that tight ass, I’m available tonight.’_

When Benny’s ass was sloppy with Dean’s spit, and Dean almost couldn’t feel his jaw anymore, he lubed up two fingers and slid the first inside. He prepped Benny thoroughly and slowly, despite feeling like he was going to explode. When he finally pressed the head of his cock into Benny’s hole, his eyes slipped closed at the tight heat surrounding him, and without a single thought of how it might feel for Benny, he surged forward in one quick thrust. “Fuck, _Cas._ ”

\---

Castiel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, steam blocking the image of himself. But he wanted to look, needed to. Leaning forward, he wiped off enough condensation to see himself clearly. The shower he’d taken had been long, the water so hot it had almost burned his skin, and he was still mostly red all over.

He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t rushed through a shower and gotten dressed as soon as possible.

Now, though, he felt no rush. Tentatively, he brushed his fingertips along his collarbone, wondering if he could replicate any sense of Dean’s touch. It wasn’t quite the same, but it was definitely soothing. He closed his eyes, hands roaming lower, down over his stomach until suddenly he was wrapping his hand around his hard cock and wondering when he’d gotten so turned on. He hissed at the feeling, but didn’t shy away from it, either.

He planted his feet firmly shoulder-width apart and slowly began sliding his hand up and down his length. It felt like years since he had spent any time alone like this, exploring himself. Hell, it had definitely been years since he’d felt he could, if he even ever had. As he jerked himself slowly, Castiel reached behind himself to test the feeling of his finger against his hole. He slicked the digit with spit and managed to get it inside up to his second knuckle before the burn got to be too much. The angle was also awkward. He’d have to buy some lube when he could, and maybe get Dean to walk him through doing… _that_ to himself.

Remembering his last encounter with Dean made his cock pulse in his hand, making a bead of precome pearl at the head of his cock. He ran his thumb through it, shuddering at the added slick it made between his hand and his dick. He didn’t know what it meant, thinking about another man with his hand beating his cock, but he shoved those thoughts away into the back of his mind. 

He needed to get off, and he needed to get off now. He pulled his finger out of himself and reached forward this time, stopping to cup his balls before slipping his finger back in. It was still awkward, but less so, and the added sensation of being full was what he needed to send him over the edge.

“Fuck,” he gasped, under his breath. With his eyes squeezed shut he could _almost_ imagine Dean working him open and stroking his cock again. The aftershocks surged in intensity and he dropped his hands away from his body as he grabbed onto the edge of the bathroom counter and blinked his eyes open. 

The man in the mirror was a million times different from the man he was used to seeing. He looked… _relieved._ Sated, even. But also needing more.


	9. Chapter 9

\--- **Session Eight** \---

Okay, so Dean had created a monster. When Castiel went to the store for some much needed supplies — namely: lube — he had been intrigued by the small selection of ‘personal massagers.’

Which lead to a trip to the local porn shop.

Which lead to Castiel showing up at Dean’s office with a non-descript paper bag. Once he was in the door, he quickly kicked off his shoes and followed the noises to the kitchen where he found Dean using a blender to make some sort of tequila drink concoction. Castiel set the bag on the counter. 

And in a sudden burst of courage, stated, “I would like you to help me learn how to use this.”

Dean pulled two glasses out of the cupboard and set them in front of the blender. “Oh?” he asked, a curious tone to his voice. “Did you buy me a present, Cas? You shouldn’t have.” He grinned as he poured their drinks.

Castiel snorted and waited patiently as Dean filled the glasses and set the blender in the sink. Once he had passed Castiel’s glass across the counter, he walked over to the bag and Castiel began to wonder what his reaction would be when he opened it…

But an interested “ _Hmm_ ” was not necessarily it.

Dean lifted the package out of the bag, examining it carefully. “Man, this takes me back,” he mused, reading the tiny printed text on the plastic box.

Castiel’s face dropped and his confidence and courage suddenly flew out the window. He quickly grabbed the box out of Dean’s hands and tucked it back into the paper bag. “Nevermind.” Turning, he carried the bag back towards the door. “I’m gonna go put this back in my car.”

“What?” Dean placed his hand on Cas’ shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “What I meant was, you’ve got great taste.” Castiel turned just in time to see the hint of a blush creep over Dean’s face.

Understanding dawned in Castiel’s mind. “You’ve… used something like this before?”

“That exact one. Except mine was purple. Until I wore it out.” 

Shaking his head, Castiel battled a mental war to the point that he squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed his empty hand into a tight fist. Frustration at how his own mind wanted him to react to Dean, made him want to scream. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” Castiel felt both of Dean’s hands on his arms and when he opened his eyes again Dean was right in front of him, stooped over slightly to look him in the eyes. “This — buying that toy — that was a big step for you, wasn’t it?”

He managed a small nod, but couldn’t seem to find words as he fought off a panic attack.

“I’m right here, Cas,” Dean said as he began to rub circles on Cas’ upper arms with his thumbs. “What do you need right now?”

His eyes landed on Dean’s lips, and the gap between _need_ and _want_ grew larger. With a deep breath, he moved forward, settling into Dean’s arms and laying his head against the other man’s shoulder in a simple hug.

Dean hugged him back, wholly, and completely. His breathing was steady and it helped to calm Castiel’s own ragged, frantic breaths. He pressed himself into Dean as the other man brushed one hand along his short hair, the other rubbing slowly over his shoulder blades.

When Castiel finally pulled away, he only moved far enough to press his forehead against Dean’s. His eyes tracked down to those plump lips again and he quivered. “I did research yesterday. Found a personal account of someone visiting a sex surrogate. She talked about how her surrogate pushed her to have feelings because it was _typical._ ” Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m okay with typical,” he whispered. “I’m okay with this meaning nothing to you. But I can’t… I can’t keep going without _more._ ”

“Cas…”

Eyes open again, he reached up and ran his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip. “I _touched myself_ , Dean. I actually… managed to masturbate without thinking once that it was _wrong._ And I did that with the ghost of your fingers on my skin — helping me to let go.”

Castiel couldn’t miss the shudder that ran over the other man’s body, like he’d stayed swimming outside too long on a late summer evening. Dean swallowed heavily, and looked Castiel straight in the eye, his own eyes dark. “What do you need, Cas?” 

He’d heard those words so many times from Dean, but they somehow hadn’t lost any meaning. “Dean,” he breathed, “do I have your consent to kiss you?”

“You always have.”

The paper bag dropped to the ground as Castiel gripped Dean’s face with both hands and kissed him _hard_ with all of the pent up desire that had been boiling over in his chest for _weeks._ It was life-shattering, better than before, never-gonna-be-that-good-again.

Dean licked into his mouth as soon as Castiel parted his lips. It was similar to other kisses that he’d had before only so much as it was indeed a kiss — everything else was barely comparable. 

Pulling back, Castiel took a deep breath and glanced down between their bodies — laughing when he noticed the hard line of his cock pressing up against his jeans. “How do you manage to make that happen _every_ time?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Dean said, gesturing to his own bulge, and quirking an eyebrow upwards.

He shivered, licking his lips and staring at Dean’s erection. “Can I touch you?” he asked.

Dean nodded. “But… would you be more comfortable somewhere else?”

The question caused him to pause and look around, realizing that they were still standing halfway between the kitchen and dining room. He waited only a moment before biting his bottom lip and nodding his head.

Dean bent down to pick up the paper bag, a smirk playing over his lips. “Just in case,” he said, before taking Castiel’s hand and leading him towards the hallway with the bedrooms. Instead of taking him to the spare bedroom, however, Dean steered him towards the other one. “I haven’t had time to change the sheets in that room,” he explained, gesturing over his shoulder. “This will be more comfortable.”

A frown creased his brow as he looked back to the other door behind him. It was a blatant reminder that Dean did this with _all_ of his patients. Castiel was not special. He steeled himself and suddenly determined to remove the emotions from the situation. He wasn’t going to allow himself to get hurt by imagining that whatever happened was _real._

Once inside Dean’s bedroom, Castiel’s movements became clinical as he dropped Dean’s hand and focused on undressing. He didn’t go back to kissing. And he damn sure didn’t reach for the hard cock still pressed against Dean’s pants. He focused solely on himself until he was naked. Only then did he wake up and notice the large king-sized bed in the middle of the room with dark blue and brown sheets. He ignored the rest of the room and climbed onto the bed on his hands and knees, ass ready for Dean’s next session of therapy.

Dean climbed onto the bed with him, apparently unable to keep his hands to himself. Like during previous sessions, Dean ran his hands over Castiel’s bare skin, his touch warm, his palms slightly rough. Unlike previous sessions, however, the touches now did not calm. Instead they ignited, and Castiel could do nothing but arch back into every caress.

He didn’t want to like it. He wanted to hate every fucking minute — but it was pointless. His body responded to Dean even if his mind didn’t, so he closed his eyes and fought off the images of Dean fucking other men, as his skin shivered beneath Dean’s hands.

“Is this okay?” Dean whispered next to Cas’ ear, his body heavy on Castiel’s back, one hand slowly trailing up his inner thigh.

“Of course,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice from cracking.

“What would you like from me, Cas?” he said as he moved back to press a kiss between Castiel’s shoulders.

The words were _right there_ on the tip of his tongue. _‘Fuck me, Dean.’_ But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be like everyone else. Just another patient. Just another troubled soul seeking help in the most unusual of ways. “The toy,” he mumbled. “Just use the toy.” _Don’t touch me. Don’t scar my skin with that feeling anymore._

“Okay,” Dean said, and the touches stopped while he moved off the bed. Castiel relaxed somewhat while he heard Dean fight with the packaging, and he watched him fumble through a dresser drawer to find batteries for it.

He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How many?”

“I think it’s just two double-As,” Dean answered, continuing to search.

Castiel rolled over onto his back and sat up, hands covering his crotch as he watched Dean. “How many clients have you fucked? Do you keep a running tally?”

“Do you really want to know?” Dean asked. “Because I’ll tell you.”

“So tell me.”

“Fifty-one.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Castiel reached down to the floor and picked up his boxers, quickly pulling them on. He wasn’t an idiot — he realized that he had only asked about clients and a guy like _Dean_ had to have enough marks on his bedpost to cause structural damage. He glanced at the clock and quickly moved to grab his pants. “Wow would you look at that, our time is up already.”

“If you really want to leave, I won’t stop you,” Dean said. “But why ask me something that you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to?”

“Just to reiterate a point to myself.” He pulled his shirt on and stared at Dean with a sad smile. “You… aren’t mine. You will never be mine. And I know… fuck, I know that I said I wanted it twenty minutes ago but I can’t. I can’t have you and act like it’s nothing.”

“It wouldn’t be _nothing,_ Cas.”

“But it wouldn’t be enough.”

\--- **Dean** \---

Dean was torn between being okay with Castiel’s decision — because it would keep the line drawn between them and remind Dean that he couldn’t date a patient — and being _frustrated_ because something he wanted _so badly_ was walking away from him. He followed Castiel back out of his bedroom, watching with a pout on his lips as the older man walked down the hallway.

It took a moment for his mind to figure out that there was another body standing at the end of the hall, and he frowned at the sight of his brother. “Sammy? What’s up?” His brother knew his business hours and knew not to show up during those hours unless it was an emergency. Dean stepped closer, watching the exchange of glances between Cas — who had stopped a foot in front of Sam instead of brushing past — and Sam. 

“Oh, um, I didn’t realise you had someone here,” Sam said. He seemed about ready to burst.

“It’s fine, I was leaving,” Castiel mumbled. Dean knew him well enough to know that the smile he sent in Dean’s direction was forced and fake. “See you next week.”

_See you next week._ Well, that was something, at least. 

“Yeah… yeah. Sorry about—” His words cut off as the door slammed shut behind Castiel’s retreating form. “Shit,” he growled.

“Would you like me to come back later?” Sam asked, following Dean into the kitchen. He could tell his little brother didn’t really mean it.

“No,” he said. “I was just about to start drinking heavily.” He reached for the forgotten about margaritas from earlier and downed half of a mostly-melted glass. When he looked back up at Sam, he rolled his eyes at his brother’s curious gaze and ignored it. “What’s up? Why the rush to see me? Is Charlie okay?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” He brushed a hand through his floppy hair, unable to stop a goofy grin from breaking through. “She said yes.”

It was probably the fact that he was so caught up in everything _Castiel_ that it took his brain a minute to understand. “Oh! Oh shit… _really_?” He reached forward to hug his brother. “Congrats!”

Sam almost stumbled backwards from the force of Dean’s hug but he recovered. “I still can’t believe it, you know?”

“I’m so happy for you guys.” He pulled back, grabbing the second glass on the counter and putting it in Sam’s hands. “Here, let’s toast with these disgusting watered down and melted margaritas, and then go out for Happy Hour.”

“Uh, thanks?” Sam looked at the glass sweating condensation in his hand. “Your ‘friend’ wasn’t thirsty, huh?”

“He’s a client,” Dean corrected, emptying the rest of his glass.

Sam squinted at his brother. “But… he was in your bedroom, Dean. You _never_ see clients in there.”

“Well,” he carried his glass to the sink, “as I explained to him, the sheets on the other bed are dirty.”

Sam left the kitchen without a word, and Dean heard him open the linen closet in the hallway. “Let me guess,” he called from around the corner, “the neatly folded spare sheets in the hall closet are dirty too?”

Dean dropped his gaze and focused on washing his cup and the blender. “It doesn’t fucking matter. He left. You saw how quickly he ran out of here. It’s a good thing too — he’s going through some shit and he doesn’t need me making it worse.”

“If he’s a client, aren’t you supposed to be making it better?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately when I made it better, I made him think I was the _only_ one that could help.”

“Dean, is he the guy we were talking about before? The demisexual one?”

_Shit._ Dean bowed forward to knock his head a few times against the kitchen counter. “Fuck, Sam. I’m so screwed. I don’t know how to help him! And on top of that — I’m so sexually frustrated by him that it’s driving me insane and ruining my better judgement.”

“Can’t you just go blow off some steam? Give Benny a call or something?”

He snorted, turning to look at his brother. “Not anymore. Not after last week when I did that and called Benny _Cas._ He told me to call him again when my head's clear.” 

“Shit,” Sam said, leaning against the counter. “It’s been awhile since someone’s gotten inside your head so much, hasn’t it?”

“Never, Sam.” He shut the water off and stared at his hands as he dried them off on a towel. “I’ve never felt like this before. And I can’t even figure out what makes him so special.”

“And normally you’d just tell him what’s going on, but considering the circumstances, you’re worried it’ll be too much for him to handle. Is that about right?”

“Yes. Fuck, I almost... I almost lost control and actually fucked him for non-therapy reasons!”

“Well, you are only human.”

“Your wisdom is overwhelming, little brother.” He moved over to a bar stool and sat. “Tell me what to do, Sam.”

“Well, you’re the one with the fancy degree and private therapy practice, Dean. I can’t tell you what to do—” he ignored the _thump_ of Dean letting his head fall heavy on the countertop in front of him and carried on, “—but do you want to know what I would do?”

“Obviously,” came the muffled reply.

“I would man the fuck up and admit to Cas that you have feelings for him beyond what you should have as his therapist. Tell him the truth, and let him decide if he needs to find a new surrogate. Because it’s unfair to both of you to keep this up.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”


	10. Chapter 10

\--- **Dean** \---

Throwing Sam and Charlie an engagement dinner was a good way for Dean to take his mind off of things. And he really was happy for them. Sam had been through more than his own share of struggles, and Dean couldn’t be prouder of his little brother for not just surviving, but _thriving_.

Once most of their modest group had left, save the guests of honor, Dean busied himself in the kitchen. 

When he heard a knock on the front door, he figured it was one of the guests having forgotten something, and let Sam and Charlie handle it as he continued cleaning.

\---

Castiel tugged at the base of his t-shirt as he waited for Dean to open the door. He wasn’t sure what he was doing there — especially considering the fact that he was completely sober.

It hadn’t even been a week. But Dean Winchester was like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch hard enough.

But it wasn’t Dean that answered the door. Instead, it was a perky looking redhead who immediately frowned at the sight of him.

“I—I’m sorry, this was a bad idea, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Castiel turned to retreat down the steps.

“Cas?” a voice called from behind the woman.

He stopped long enough to glance back. It wasn’t Dean. Instead, it was his brother Sam. “Yeah. I just—”

“Come on in.” They stepped back enough to give him room to enter, and as he cautiously walked past the two, into the house, Sam smiled. “Cas, this is my fiancé, Charlie.”

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you,” Cas said. He held out his hand to shake the woman’s, but barely looked at her as he craned his neck towards the kitchen, where he heard noises of someone cleaning up. He realised that he didn’t know whether he was disappointed or relieved that Dean apparently didn’t know he was there. “I really do apologise if this is a bad time. It’s not my scheduled — I mean, Dean’s not expecting me.”

A glance passed between Sam and Charlie. Castiel watched it happening and felt his stomach flipping. He could practically see the wheels turning. They knew who he was. They knew his relationship with Dean. 

“Would you like a slice of pie, Cas?” Charlie quickly asked. “We just got done having a few people over to celebrate the engagement.”

“Engagement?”

“When we met the other day, I was coming over to tell Dean the good news. I’m sorry for barging in on your appointment like that,” Sam replied. “I usually don’t come over during business hours, but I was too excited to think straight.”

Castiel thought back to his own engagement, and how sort of neutral he’d felt after the whole thing. He’d never realised that may not have been a normal reaction. “Oh, of course. Congratulations to you both.”

Charlie ushered both men into the living room, and dished out a slice of pie from the plate that was still sitting out on the coffee table. “He won’t admit to this, of course, but Dean makes an amazing banana cream pie.”

The thought of Dean doing something so _domestic_ as making a pie stirred something warm in Castiel’s chest, but it lead quickly into the pain of wanting. He wanted so much more of Dean than he was entitled to, was allowed to ask for. “I’m sure he does, but if you were having a family get-together…”

Sam shook his head, pulling Charlie down onto his lap. “In the Winchester household, everyone is family. It’s just Dean and I these days, so we’ve adopted our friends into the family.” He nuzzled Charlie’s neck. “And then we have ones that we marry into the family.”

Castiel fiddled nervously with the sleeve of his shirt. “Well, Dean and I aren’t exactly friends,” he said, far more tersely than he intended.

With a snort, Charlie shook her head. “I don’t think Dean would agree with that. He seems pretty hung up on you.”

Without meaning to, Castiel’s head jerked up from where he was staring at his hands. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, don’t get offended by this but—” Sam smiled, “For someone who isn’t supposed to talk about his patients… Dean talks about you _constantly._ ”

Charlie nodded. “‘Oh my God, the blue in the sky tonight looks _just like_ Castiel’s eyes. I wonder how he is. Do you think he’s alright?’”

Sam choked back a laugh, and a moment later a familiar body spun around the corner — giving away the fact that he had obviously been eavesdropping. 

“I did _not_ fucking say that!” Dean growled.

“Uh, you very certainly fucking did,” Sam said with a grin, looking over his shoulder.

Castiel looked up, feeling his heart race at the sight of Dean. 

Before he could say anything, Charlie stretched out on Sam’s lap. “Sweetheart, I’m exhausted and horny. How about we head home and leave these two men to get over their problems in private?”

Sam huffed a laugh, patting Charlie’s hip and grinning up at her. “I think that’s a good plan.” He leaned forward to get up, letting his fianceé slide to her feet. “Looks like you guys have got a lot to talk about.”

With a nod, Castiel offered his farewells to the happy couple, and waited patiently on the sofa as Dean showed them out. His nerves were beginning to act up even more at the thought of being alone with Dean.

“You hungry?” Dean asked as he walked back from the front hall. He looked at Castiel only fleetingly before shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the floor. “There’s a steak or two left, and like Sam said, there’s pie.”

Cas held up his half eaten slice of pie. “I know. It was amazing.” He set the plate back down on the coffee table and pulled his hands into his lap. “Dean… I can’t keep going on without working out whatever this shit is…”

“Then let’s work it out.” Dean sat down across from him. “What can I… what can I do to make things clear for you?”

He took a deep breath before whispering, “I like you, Dean. Not just that, but I _want_ you.”

“Cas,” Dean looked up, finally making eye contact with him. “You know that’s perfectly normal, right? For how… close we’ve been.”

A growl forced it’s way up and out before he could contain it, and Castiel stood in a rush. His fingers dug into his short hair in frustration. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected Dean to say — but something reminiscent of ‘oh yeah, I like you too!’ would have been nice. “I think it’s about time,” he managed, “that I accept that this whole ‘ _sexual therapy_ ’ isn’t going to fucking work.”

“I’ll accept that,” Dean said, cooler than Cas would have expected. “It’s not for everyone.” He had both his hands in his lap, and was picking at his fingernails as he spoke. “But, please. Tell me why. Let’s make absolutely sure it’s not something we can fix.”

“Why? _Why?_ ” He shook his head and the anger boiled over. “Because I’m just a fucking patient, Dean! I’m a fucking _notch_ on your bedpost. One of _fifty-one_.” He spun around and glared at Dean. “I’m fucking in _love_ with you, and all I am is a God-damn _patient_ to you. So yeah. I think therapy is _not_ fucking working.”

“Goddammit, Cas!” Dean got to his feet as his voice rose for the first time that Castiel ever remembered. “You’re not a fucking _notch_ , okay? I can’t — I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell you that I have feelings for you too.” He inhaled deeply, and let it out noisily, running his hands through his hair and making a mess of it. “It’s unprofessional, and generally a really bad fucking idea. I don’t normally even… romantic attraction is not something I come across easily. But,” he groaned, spreading out his hands, “here we are.”

Cas stared at Dean, trying to ignore the argument brewing in his head. He didn’t care whether or not Dean was lying. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

He. Didn’t. Care.

Not when Dean looked like sex on a stick.

He closed the distance between them in two steps and dug his fingers into that mussed up hair as he sealed his lips on Dean’s.

Dean’s lips were soft and yielded easily to Castiel’s. He kissed back eagerly, running their tongues together as his hands roamed all over Castiel’s back and shoulders. 

When the kiss broke, Cas ran his thumb along Dean’s plump bottom lip and shuddered slightly. “Pack a bag, Dean.”

“A bag?”

“Yes. I need _you_ but I can’t… _here._ ” He motioned with this head at the house around them. The well-blended mix of therapy space and home. “I need a space that is _ours_ so that I can forget all of the rest of it.”

Dean pulled back to look at Castiel. “You know, I don’t think I can here, either.” He brought a hand to cup over Castiel’s jaw, and it was a gesture that Cas leaned into, a touch that he didn’t know he’d needed so badly. “Give me five minutes?”

He smiled, nodding. “Hurry.”

Dean leaned forward to kiss Castiel again. “Of course.” He disappeared down the hall.

True to his word, Dean was walking back down the hall carrying a small duffel bag five minutes later. Cas shivered, a grin spreading out over his face as he pulled his keys from his pocket. “It alright if I pick the place?”

Dean slipped on a pair of well-worn boots and hefted his bag over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

\--- **Dean** \---

Dean rode the elevator with Castiel up to the fifth floor of a nice looking building downtown. His fingers tapped nervously along the strap of his bag as he fought off shoving Cas against the side of the elevator and kissing him.

Any other time, he wouldn’t fight so hard to control himself.

On that particular occasion, though, they were sharing the car with a mother and her toddler. He kept his hands to himself the best he could, only reaching over once to squeeze Castiel’s fingers and smile at him reassuringly. 

When the elevator doors opened, he let Castiel lead the way down the hall and around a corner until they slowed in front of a smooth, wooden door. Cas fished in his pocket for his keys, unlocking the door before pushing it open. 

“This is nice,” Dean said, following Castiel inside. He toed off his shoes after closing the door behind him, admiring the clean and modern decor of the condo. “Are you staying here for long?”

Castiel moved into the kitchen area with a shy smile on his face. “Actually… this is mine. I’ve got the house up for sale. Too many memories of Tessa.”

“I think… I think that was a really good call. See? You’re moving on. You’re healing.”

“Dean, as good as that is to hear,” Castiel stopped where he’d been getting two glasses out of the cupboard and looked at Dean. “Is it possible to shelve the therapist discourse? Unless I was mistaken, and you’re _not_ here personally.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Dean scratched at the back of his neck nervously, before taking a deep breath and nodding. “Okay.” He set his bag down on one of the barstools by the kitchen island, and moved around to stand behind Cas, letting his hands brush tentatively along the other man’s sides. “No more therapy talk. Just sexy times.”

Castiel reached up behind himself to cradle the back of Dean’s neck and bring the other man in close to him. “Maybe not if you call them ‘sexy times,’” he joked chuckling as he kissed the side of Dean’s jaw. “And it’s not just that,” he added. “I feel… _close_ to you. I can’t… I can’t explain it.”

“I could.” Dean found a strip of Castiel’s neck and began kissing and nibbling at the skin there. “But no therapy talk.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. “Not tonight.” He turned in his spot then and let himself kiss Dean fully. Maybe it was the ground rules they’d discussed, or maybe it was the neutrality of the setting, but Castiel finally felt like he was free to kiss Dean. Because he wanted to, and because Dean wanted it back.

Nimble fingers worked at Cas’ shirt, as Dean felt the tightness of his own jeans starting to become uncomfortable. It felt so weird to be so sexually attracted to someone — while also being emotionally invested in their well-being.

He bit at Cas’ bottom lip and pulled back enough to let out a shaky breath. “Does this place have a bedroom?”

Castiel’s tongue darted out to pass over his lips, seeking out the taste of Dean. He rose his eyes from Dean’s stubble-covered jaw, to his lips, his freckle-covered nose, and his leaf-green eyes. “It does. Did you... ” he trailed off, gesturing to the glasses he’d set on the counter, “want some water?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said through a warm smile. He held his hand out, and Cas took it willingly. “C’mon, why don’t you lead the way?”

They passed through a well decorated living room, before moving down a short hallway into the bedroom. One whole wall was large windows, showing the glowing city lights and stars of the night sky. Dean gravitated to it, out of curiosity, wanting to see which neighbors had a view into the room.

Not very many.

“I, uh..” Dean’s attention was drawn back to the room behind him, where Castiel was standing beside the nightstand and holding a bottle of lubricant. “I bought supplies.”

“You did, huh?” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed near the nightstand and pulled Castiel close to him by the belt of his pants. “You’ve been thinking about this?”

“Considering we’ve gotten to this point _twice_ now… yes.” Cas brushed his fingers through Dean’s messy hair. “Do you have a normal preference to being on top or bottom, Dean?”

“I like both,” he said plainly, running his hands up and down Castiel’s sides. “Right now I just want to be close to you. What do you want to try?”

His eyelids dipped a bit, and Dean watched the arousal darkening his expression. “I want you to fuck me. But… I want to be able to see you.”

“That,” Dean said, “we can definitely do.” He looked up at Castiel, enjoying the closeness and warmth of him already. With a soft smile, he whispered, “C’mere.”


	11. Chapter 11

\--- **Dean** \---

Dean reached out and pulled Castiel in closer by his shirt, as the other man bent over to be in kissing distance. The kiss was slow, and deep, but there was a passion and an understated impatience behind it as well. They had done a lot of dancing around the past few weeks — fighting between attraction, or not. Patient, or not. It was good to finally just be.

He let one of his hands slide down to palm the growing bulge in his jeans. “We are both definitely wearing too many clothes.”

Castiel raised his arms and began pulling his shirt up and over his head, in between kisses. When the shirt was tossed aside, Cas stepped back to work at his belt. “I agree,” he managed, a bit breathless.

Dean mirrored the actions, losing his shirt, and laying back on the bed to undo his jeans and then push them and his underwear down and off his legs. He pulled an equally naked Castiel on top of him, relishing the hot feel of skin on skin. He gasped as their cocks, both hard, brushed against each other, and he grinned into Castiel’s mouth as he kissed him again.

For once, Castiel moved without any hesitation. The therapist voice in the back of Dean’s head said that he was definitely hitting a high note in his recovery. 

That voice, however, was silenced by pure, unleashed _need_. Dean rocked his hips up against Cas and groaned. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, Cas.”

Castiel drew back, a look of shock coloring his face. “You have?”

“ _Yes._ You’re all I can think about.” He bit his bottom lip and let his eyes roam over every inch of Castiel’s bare skin that he could see. “Every time I touched you, it was like fire under my fingertips. I _wanted_ but didn’t think I could have.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. When he opened them again, his eyes focused in on Dean’s like a beacon. “Tell me, just once, but _promise_ me you’re telling the truth.”

“I promise, Castiel, that I am _completely_ smitten with you.”

A punched-out noise escaped from Castiel’s throat. “I think,” he said, smoothing a hand over the side of Dean’s face, still examining his every feature, “that I feel exactly the same.”

Another kiss and Dean was rolling their bodies, pressing Castiel back into the cool sheets of the bed. The plastic of the bottle of lubricant was pressing against Dean’s leg, but instead of reaching for it, he focused on the expanse of skin beneath him. Cas had always responded well to touch therapy, so Dean figured nothing would relax the older man more than some light caresses and gentle kisses. 

Because despite their harried movements up until that point, Dean knew that he wanted to make everything last. Wanted to draw out the pleasure for both of them. 

He kissed a slow trail down Castiel’s chest, fingers slowly guiding the way — soothing over tanned skin. A soft whimper escaped Cas’ lips, and Dean flicked his gaze up to check on the other man.

Intense blue eyes were watching him, waiting patiently. 

Dean’s hands moved down to run along taut muscle and strong calves, as his tongue slowly circled Castiel’s belly button before his lips continued south. The first touch of a kiss to the tip of Castiel’s cock, and he was surging up against Dean with a strangled cry, bead of precome leaking out of the tip of his dick.

Dean wasn’t sure he had ever enjoyed giving head as much as he did in that moment. Something about knowing the struggle that the man below him had gone through, made it all the better. He sucked down the length of Castiel’s cock, as his hands brushed gently up and down the man’s bare thighs. 

“Dean,” a deep voice grumbled from above, “I need more.”

He was obliged to grant that wish. But he moved slow, knowing not to push Cas too fast too soon. He used a soft touch to open the man up and memorized every sound that he could hear as Castiel fell apart on his fingers.

A few minutes later, at the first push of his condom-covered dick into that tight heat, Dean growled beneath his breath and leaned forward to suck a bruise into Castiel’s neck. “You feel so fucking _amazing._ ”

Even in his ecstasy laced mind he knew what Castiel needed to hear. The other man needed to know that he was worth something during sex. As good as it was — Dean was prepared to spend every moment telling Castiel that very thing.

\--- **Dean** \---

When Dean woke up the next morning, it was with the gentle snore of Castiel breathing against his chest. He smiled, reaching down to lightly brush his hand over the short salt and pepper hairs that were growing back atop Cas’ head.

It was hard to believe that he could be happy laying there. After all of the previous relationships that had ended in misery because _’it’s like you don’t even fucking care, Dean!’_... how could he possibly be okay with a new relationship with a _patient_ of all people.

But there was the kicker. He was okay with it. More than okay. 

He was _happy._

“You’re a very loud thinker,” a gruff voice mumbled.

Dean smiled, raising his head to brush a kiss over Castiel’s hair. “Sorry.”

“You don’t sound very sorry.” Castiel shuffled and turned so that he was looking up at Dean with a lazy smile. “G’morning.”

“Morning.”

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

Ten minutes later, Dean sat at the kitchen bar as Castiel rustled through the kitchen cupboards. He could tell by the older man’s gait that he was still a little sore from the night before. Dean would have to make it up to him later.

A steaming cup of coffee slid across the granite before Castiel moved back to the fridge to grab out a carton of creamer. “You a breakfast person?”

Dean blew lightly on his coffee and gratefully accepted the creamer. “I usually just grab toast or cereal. I’m not a big morning person.”

Castiel grabbed a jug of milk before moving to pull down a box of Cheerios and a couple bowls. “Cereal it is.”

Dean waited until they both had breakfast in front of them and Castiel was gently easing onto the barstool next to him, before asking, “Sore?”

“A bit.” Cas glanced his way with a small smirk. “Worth it, though.” They were silent for a few moments before Castiel spoke up again. “What... now?”

Staring at his half eaten bowl of cereal, Dean tried to find the right thing to say in the ooo’s of the Cheerios. “I have to warn you, Cas — I’m rubbish at relationships. I’ve never had a need to commit myself fully to another person. I’ve never…” He shrugged and dropped his gaze once more. “I don’t know how to be in love.”

“Okay.” Castiel nodded, pushing his empty bowl away. “Well the good news is… I don’t know how to be gay. So I guess we’re both going into this a bit out of our element.”

“Oh!” Dean pulled his cellphone from his pocket and searched for something on Google before laying the phone down and sliding it towards Castiel. “I promise not to go into therapist mode on you, but I think you need to read this.”

On the phone was a definition of the word ‘demisexual’ — and Dean watched understanding flash in Castiel’s eyes as he read the words.

“That’s… that’s me. I never _wanted_ sex unless I had emotionally developed a relationship with the person.” He glanced back up to Dean. “Even with you.”

“I know. So I’m showing you this so you can stop panicking about whether or not you’re _gay_ or _straight_ or even bisexual.” Dean reached over and brushed his fingers gently along Castiel’s shoulder. “The answer is, you’re _Castiel._ And you’ll fuck whoever you _want._ ”

“Literally.”

Dean winked. “I think you’ve come a long way, Cas. And if working with a sexual surrogate from this point forward _isn’t_ going to help, you might still benefit from seeing a regular counselor on occasion.” He shrugged, “Everyone does good to have someone to talk to. A third-party.”

“Yeah.” The older man was quiet for a long moment, before he looked up at Dean with a smile. “It’s Sunday. Can you stay?”

“Maybe…”

“Maybe we could do something cheesy like go to the movies?”

“Castiel! Are you asking me out on a date?” Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but Dean quickly cut him off. “You know, I’m not a cheap date…”

\--- **One Year Later** \---

Castiel stepped into the condo carrying a bottle of champagne and wearing an excited smile. It was their one year anniversary. But not only that — he had just got back from his yearly follow-up appointment with his oncologist.

“Dean?”

“In here!” his boyfriend replied.

He left the champagne on the kitchen counter and followed the voice down the hall to the bedroom. The walls in the hallway were covered in pictures of both of their families — Sam and Charlie’s wedding up beside a holiday card from Hannah’s family. It had taken six months of dating before Dean officially ‘moved in’. He still kept the office, of course, but Castiel didn’t like to dwell on what happened at Dean’s work, beyond the knowledge that his boyfriend was helping people.

In their bedroom, Dean sat in the middle of the bed, folding and sorting a large pile of laundry. Castiel let out a triumphant holler. “I won!”

“You asshole. I was _this close_ to buying a new package of underwear. I’ve gone commando all week!” Dean stuck his tongue out like a petulant three-year-old, and continued folding socks.

Castiel always won at the ‘who will cave and do laundry’ game. Mainly because he secretly had a stash of extra underwear. “So — it’s official.”

Dean’s face lit up. “Yeah?”

“I continue to be cancer free!”

In a rush, Dean stood up and moved across the floor, quickly wrapping his arms around Castiel and kissing him. “That’s amazing, Cas.”

“I bought champagne, to celebrate.”

“Mmm. It’ll go great with the pie I made—” One more quick kiss and Dean was pulling back. “I gotta finish folding these clothes first, though. I don’t want to look like a wrinkly college student at work tomorrow.”

Castiel laughed, turning back to leave the bedroom. “I love you. I can’t wait to cash in on my prize for winning this round.”

“I love you too, asshole! You and your stinky socks!”


End file.
